


fearless

by suspendrs



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, But Also!, Childhood Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Famous Harry, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, Happy Ending, High School, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Non-Famous Louis, and a shit ton of fluff, closeting, friends to lovers to enemies to lovers basically, how could i forget that one, i hate that tag, stunts, to quote nix directly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:21:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 97,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23304559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suspendrs/pseuds/suspendrs
Summary: “You’re my best friend, Louis,” Harry says, barely above a whisper. Even if he was yelling, Louis wouldn’t be able to believe his ears. “And I know it’s been a while, but you’re still the person I consider my best friend,” Harry says.Louis blinks, and then blinks again. “I honestly cannot say the same, Harry,” he says.Or, Harry left home without a word after high school, and a lot can change in ten years.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 101
Kudos: 940





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i would like to paint a picture for you: on february 6th, 2020, i had a cute idea to write a little fic based off Fearless. it would be short, angsty but with a cute resolution, maybe 20k, or so. five weeks later, on march 15th, i looked up, and the fic was 97k long and i was running on borrowed brain cells. i have Never written anything this fast, and yet, somehow, i'm pretty proud of this. big ol thanks to nix for being my ruthless cheerleader throughout the process of writing this fic, and big ol thanks for sophie for being my (literally) fearless editor.
> 
> as the world goes to shit around us, i hope this story lends you as much comfort and distraction as it has lent me over the past few weeks. thank you, as always, for being here. 
> 
> **one quick thing before you read this: for the sake of clarity, scene breaks are marked with either a + or a -. Scenes following a + are ‘before’ and scenes following a - are ‘after’. you shouldn't necessarily need to be aware of this, but if you're looking for signposts about which timeline you're in, keep this in mind.**
> 
> please do not translate, repost, or recreate this work in any way. thank you!

The invitation comes in the mail an hour after he’s meant to be at the studio, so he doesn’t pay it much attention, kicking the little pile of overdue bills and junk mail to the side with his foot and dashing out the door, nearly smashing his guitar case against the doorframe on his way out. It lies there, forgotten and scuffed with a perfect crescent moon, the same pattern as the bottom of Louis’s sneaker, until he gets home later that evening and finally returns the three missed calls from his best friend.

“We’re going,” says her tinny voice down the line, forceful despite the fact that she sounds as tired as Louis knows she is.

“Going where?” Louis asks, scooping up the little pile of mail off the floor just to make sure he isn’t missing anything important — anything that could result in arrest, for example.

“Don’t play dumb,” Perrie says. “We’re going, and I don’t care what you say.”

“Perrie, I genuinely-” he cuts off mid-sentence, eyes finally catching on the electric blue half page of stock paper shuffled in with the rest of his mail. He plucks it out, stomach already sinking at the sight of the familiar logo stamped on the top.

“C’mon, we have to!” Perrie whines. “It’ll be so funny, Lou, think about it. Haven’t you wondered about all those losers we went to high school with? Don’t you want to know what they’re up to now?”

“No, and no,” Louis says, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his ear and holding the invitation as close to the receiver as he can as he tears it in two. “Nor do I appreciate the reminder that we’ve been out of high school for _ten fucking years_.”

“Come on,” Perrie says again, drawing out the words so long Louis nearly hangs up on her.

“That’s everything I don’t need right now,” Louis says, dropping the two halves of the invitation in the trash under his kitchen sink. “To see everyone who bullied us in high school flourishing and living their dreams while we’re both wasting away, almost 30-year-old failures? No thanks.”

“We’re not failures,” Perrie says. “Not the worst of our grade, at least, I’m sure of it. C’mon, you think Tom Eggleston amounted to anything more than we did?”

Louis cringes, shaking his head. “What if he did? That’s exactly why I can’t go. If I find out that Tom Eggleston is making more money than me now, I’ll kill myself.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Perrie says. “Last I heard, he was still assistant janitor at Whitfield Middle,” she says, like she’s proving a point.

“Yeah, and he’s probably still making more money than me,” Louis says. “Perrie, I’m a shitty independent musician, and you’re a divorced, unemployed mother of two. We are losers.”

“I am not unemployed!” Perrie squawks. “I’m an author!”

“Your last book — excuse me, your _only_ book sold 76 copies,” Louis says flatly.

“74!” Perrie growls. “If you’re going to insult me, at least fact check your insults first.”

“I’m not going,” Louis says. “I’m not going to the reunion.”

“Yes you are,” Perrie says.

“No, I actually can’t,” Louis says. “I have a gig that night.”

“What night?” Perrie challenges. 

Louis hesitates, pulling one half of the invitation back out of the garbage. “The — uh, the 26th?”

“Nope,” Perrie says.

“27th?” Louis asks, but he knows he’s already lost.

“25th,” Perrie says. “Pick me up at 6:00, you’re my ride.”

“Fuck you,” Louis says.

“Love you, too!” Perrie says sweetly. Louis hangs up on her, which he should’ve done the second he heard about the reunion, and then retires to the living room to see just how drunk he can get during a single episode of _Criminal Minds_ while still being able to follow the plot.

He has no idea what Perrie’s talking about, he’s definitely the biggest loser he knows.

-

At 6:07pm on Saturday, the 25th of June, Louis is parked in Perrie’s driveway, watching through her bedroom window as she finishes getting ready. He has half a mind to just turn around and go home out of spite, but before he can work up the courage to do it, she comes whirling out the front door, running as effortlessly on 4-inch heels as Louis’s ever seen a person run, and falls into his passenger seat.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Perrie asks, glaring at him while she does up her seatbelt. “The idea is to convince people that we’re _not_ losers, Louis, not to make them think we’re homeless.”

“Hey,” Louis says, putting one hand over his chest, like he’s hurt. This is the softest t-shirt he owns, and he’s going to need the comfort tonight; he tells Perrie as much, but she doesn’t look convinced.

“We’re going back to yours,” she sighs, cracking open her window and pulling a cigarette out of her bra. “You need to change.”

“I thought you quit smoking?” Louis asks, but he obeys her orders, driving diligently back in the direction of his own apartment. 

“Who told you that, Nikki?” Perrie says. 

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Louis says.

“Well, don’t tell her she’s wrong,” Perrie says, digging through Louis’s cup holders for a lighter. “The girls think I quit last summer.”

Louis waits until she gets the cigarette lit before he snatches it out of her hands, taking a drag despite her indignant protests. He pulls a face the second the cigarette leaves his lips, and he rolls the window down to cough the smoke outside.

“What is that, menthol?” he chokes, flicking the whole cigarette out the window. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Louis!” Perrie shrieks. “Those are expensive! I’m unemployed, you _dick_!”

“I thought you were an author?” Louis says. Perrie shrieks again in frustration, and Louis laughs; it’s so rare that he gets the upper hand in his banter with Perrie, but when he manages it, he loves to get as deep under her skin as he can. She’s the one forcing him to go to his stupid high school reunion, anyway, he’ll throw away all the cigarettes he wants to tonight.

“I am an author!” Perrie growls. “I fucking hate you.”

“Love you, too, P,” Louis grins, reaching over to hold her hand. She lets him, remarkably; she knows how much he’s dreading this event, probably, and even though he hasn’t voiced his reasons out loud, he knows that she knows. They’ve been through a lot together, the two of them, but they’ve both been through even more alone, and the unbreakable bond they have now is a result of years of trauma and heartache, years of protecting each other from the world if only to be protected in return. They might be losers, but they’re alive, goddamnit, despite everything.

Perrie spends 45 minutes dressing him up like a doll when they get back to his apartment, and then an extra fifteen minutes berating him about the state of his living space (“for fuck’s sake, Louis, my 6-year-old and 8-year-old daughters keep their room cleaner than this place!”) and by the time she’s done, Louis’s in the tightest pair of jeans he owns, a navy blue dress shirt buttoned right up to his neck, and a pair of clean gray converse. Perrie sculpts his hair into something soft and swoopy and a little too stiff for his liking, but even he must admit, he looks quite nice when she’s finally finished with him.

“You drink and smoke more than anyone I know,” Perrie says, peering at him in the mirror from over his shoulder. “How the fuck have you not aged a day since you turned 22?”

“It’s all the sex I’m not having,” Louis says, forlorn.

“Well, you can get some tonight,” she says, slapping his ass firmly. His jeans are so tight it hardly even bounces. 

“My high school reunion is the exact opposite of the place I want to be pulling guys,” Louis says. “Unless you’re taking me to the bar after. Or a club. Or a-”

“I am not taking you anywhere,” Perrie says, “that much I can promise. Now, we’re already late, let’s _go_.”

Just like that, they’re off again, back in Louis’s car, tracing the familiar route to the country club on the wealthier side of town. They had their senior prom here ten entire years ago, and, come to think of it, they turned up there in this very car, albeit with a few more people along for the ride. Louis’s stomach starts to turn if he thinks about it for too long, so he forces it out of his head; he’s absolutely sure they’re not going to see any of those people tonight, and even if they do, what should he care? It’s been ten years, a whole _decade_ since high school ended, he has no business feeling as bitter as he still feels sometimes.

The thing is, Louis feels like his life just kind of stopped after high school. He tried college, but it wasn’t really for him, especially when Perrie got pregnant at 18 and then decided to marry the guy who did it to her, who she’d only known for about six months prior. He had already been feeling pretty down about life, anyway, and when Perrie’s life went off the rails, he decided to follow her down. Perrie got a second child and a pretty gnarly divorce out of the whole ordeal, and Louis (almost) got several recording contracts, but they all fell through before he could make anything of himself. He’s been indie for a few years now, and Perrie’s been single about as long, and they’ve been sticking it out together, losers in crime, ever since.

Pulling into the parking lot of the country club is surreal; it feels like they’ve gone back in time, and when Louis parks the car, he almost subconsciously reaches up to fix the corsage on his lapel, almost looks over to the passenger seat to check on— 

Perrie. It’s Perrie in his passenger seat, platinum blonde hair curled to perfection, like always. Ten years ago, it was bubblegum pink to match her prom dress, to match the lilies she had around her wrist and in her hair. She was always so fucking beautiful, and she still is, even as she turns and gives Louis the stinkiest stink eye he’s ever received, save for maybe one particularly harsh look from Izzy, Perrie’s 6-year-old.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” she asks, fixing her bra through her cocktail dress and checking her lipstick in the visor mirror. “What are we waiting for?”

“You look really nice,” Louis says, reaching over to squeeze her forearm when she jerks her hand away from him. She softens considerably, though, and slides her fingers through his, squeezing tight.

“Thank you for coming,” she says so, so softly, a rare moment of vulnerability. “I know you’d rather not be here tonight, but thank you for coming anyway.”

“Anything for you, Perrie,” Louis says. “You know that.”

Perrie gives him a goofy smile, the one she used to pull from across the classroom in middle school that would always send Louis erupting into a fit of giggles and get them both sent out into the hallway to contain themselves. It still works, remarkably, and Louis keeps laughing even as they climb out of the car, as they cross the parking lot, hand in hand, as they receive their name placards and make their way into the function room.

Right off the bat, it feels as though nothing has changed at all since they graduated. The very same cliques from a decade ago are clustered in small groups around the function room, the very same pairs of eyes that always watched them curiously as they strutted the halls are watching them just as curiously now, and the very same backs of heads that were always turned to ignore them are turning to ignore them now. They don’t have very many fans in this room, the two of them, but that’s not news.

They were the drama kids in high school, the very, very small group of box-dyed, secondhand-clothed, bedazzled-within-and-without kids that walked the hallways like they owned them, sang in the cafeteria like they were in a musical, spent gym class performing monologues under the bleachers and hiding from the coaches. They were all destined for greatness, the whole lot of them, though only some of them really made anything of themselves. Jesy, for example, went on to teach dance at some fancy performing arts academy in New York, and Leigh-Anne moved to London straight out of college to start work in the fashion industry. Jade is cutting hair at her third salon this year somewhere on the outskirts of Whitfield, Niall teaches music at South Whitfield Elementary, and last Louis heard, Liam was just finishing up some off-broadway production of a play no one had ever heard of and was coming back home for a while between gigs. Louis doesn’t know if any of them will be here tonight, but part of him, secretly, hopes they will be. As much as he likes to pretend he left high school in the dirt where it belongs, he does still think of them all often, maybe a little more often than he should, some of them more than others…

Perrie spots Niall and Liam across the room and squeals like there’s no one else around, shoving through the little congregations of old friends to run to them. Louis follows after her quickly, quietly apologizing to the disgruntled people in her wake; most of them look familiar, some of them look _terrible_ , Louis notes with a sick sense of satisfaction.

Louis goes in for hugs as soon as Perrie is finished, and then everything is normal, like nothing ever changed. Liam talked to Leigh-Anne last week, when he was in London with his girlfriend, and she’s doing well. Jade still cuts Niall’s hair, has done since middle school, and apparently she’s recently broken up with her boyfriend and has had quite a string of rebounds. Niall is as much of a gossip as ever, and Liam is as happy to be there as he always was in school, and before Louis knows it, he’s got a martini in his hand and he’s laughing loudly with the people he used to link pinkies with and promise they’d never lose touch, they’d never stop being best friends.

It hurts to feel the empty space beside him and to know that it’s empty, to know _why_ its empty, to know exactly who is missing. He wonders if everyone else is as conscious of the absence as he is, or if he’s the only one still hung up on things a decade past, and he thinks he knows the answer.

As time goes on, he starts to feel a little less terrible about the whole thing, a little less bitter about the fact that they’re here in the first place. He missed these guys, Liam and Niall, and he never would’ve reached out, never would have even noticed, probably, if he hadn’t run into them tonight. Liam’s girlfriend is pregnant, Niall’s going to propose to his girlfriend at the end of the summer. Louis’s never felt so alone and behind in his life, but, as Perrie reminds him with a gentle squeeze to his behind when he’s been quiet for a while, he’s never really alone.

He’s just between boyfriends right now, that’s all. Nevermind that he’s been single for almost a year, and his longest relationship since high school was about six months long. Nevermind that he hasn’t been on a date that he enjoyed in probably two or three years, or that the last time he had sex, it was with the son of a producer Louis would kill to work with, and he didn’t even get a text back after. It’s fine, really, he’s fine, and he’s sure that soon, very soon, his luck is going to turn. It has to turn at some point, anyway, right?

Tonight is not the night, though, apparently, not that Louis ever thought it would be. Just as he’s starting to get truly comfortable again around his old friends, chattering about a record he’s been working on the past few months, Perrie goes stiff as a stone, eyes locking on Louis’s face.

“What?” Louis asks, cutting off mid-sentence. He knows Perrie well enough to feel the air shift with her moods, and right now she’s panicking, looking everywhere except Louis’s eyes.

“I was just reacting to your story,” she says, but she won’t look directly at him, and then suddenly she’s angling her head down, like she’s hiding from someone. “I can’t believe they made you rewrite that song so many times.”

“Yeah, it was a pain,” Louis frowns, looking up at Liam and Niall. Liam looks just as confused as Louis feels, but Niall seems to have caught on to whatever’s got Perrie suddenly talking a mile a minute about editing her terrible novel last year, his wide eyes glued to something over Louis’s shoulder. 

Louis, against all his better judgement, turns around. Perrie grabs his hand, digging her nails in hard, but it’s too late, Louis’s already seen it, and his heart is already pressing firm at the tip of his toes, wondering why it can’t seem to sink any lower.

“Ignore him,” Perrie is growling, tugging on Louis’s hand. “Louis, come on.”

Louis swallows hard, turning back to his friends. His heart races back up into his throat, beating so hard it hurts, pumping his blood through his veins like tar. 

In high school, Louis was fearless. He was brilliant, he was talented, he was unstoppable. He was everything everyone else wished they could be, and he knew it; he was confident, mischievous, as hot as an 18-year-old kid with box-dyed red hair can be. Now, though, standing in the function room of a country club that used to feel a lot bigger than it does right now, he’s none of those things, he’s nothing, he’s less than nothing. He’s all tar-blood and shaking knees, turning his back to the magnificent light that is Harry Styles, who has just come floating through the door in what is probably, almost definitely a designer suit, with some gorgeous, lanky blonde hanging off his arm like they’re at the Golden Globes instead of a high school reunion.

He tries to ignore him. He takes deep breath after deep breath, trying to focus on what Niall’s saying about one of his students, but it is absolutely impossible to ignore the feeling of Harry Styles, Harry _fucking_ Styles wandering around behind him, making small talk with his former classmates, laughing just loudly enough for the sound to seep under Louis’s buttondown and into his skin, rising goosebumps like a million pricks of a million needles, pain rolling over him in shivering waves.

Ten years. It’s been ten years. Ten _fucking_ years and this is still the effect Harry has on him, this is still the one fucking thing that never fails to unnerve him.

Everyone else is on edge, too, but probably only because Louis is quite visibly about to shake right out of his converse right here in the back corner of the function room. He is so conscious of Harry’s location in the room, tracking the sound of him moving around like a cat tracks prey, like a doctor tracks an illness, like God tracks a sinner.

He feels terrible, if he’s being honest, because this was such a nice evening, and now he’s going to have to leave and never show his face in Whitfield again. It’s just that he can’t, he cannot be in the same room as Harry, especially not now, after all this time, after everything— 

He raises his shaking glass to his lips to take the last sip of his martini, excuses already forming in his mouth as to why he has to leave, as if everyone doesn't already know. _Sorry, guys,_ he’ll say, _I gotta head out now. I have a meeting tomorrow— I’m expecting company to arrive in the morning— I have to catch a flight to— to— Mars?_

Before any of those words get a chance to come out, before the drink has even finished sliding down the back of his throat with all the sweet saccharine of gasoline, someone slides up behind him, warm air rushing over Louis’s shoulder and down his hip as the person sweeps in.

He knows who it is long before he hears the voice, or catches the scent, or sees the hand that extends past him to clap Niall on the shoulder. He can tell by the mere presence, the energy of the body behind him, that he is in grave, mortal danger.

“Niall Horan,” Harry says, dragging Niall in for a hug. Niall goes stiffly, knocks into Louis a little bit on the way, but Louis can’t think straight enough to get his feet to move, to pull himself out of the way. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” Niall says, pulling away with utter shock and mortification written all over his face. “And— um, and yourself?”

“Good, good,” Harry breathes effortlessly, like nothing in the world is wrong. _Everything in the world is so, so wrong_. “Liam! Good to see you!”

“Always,” Liam agrees, letting himself be pulled in for a hug, as well. He keeps his eyes glued on Louis the whole time, though, as if to tell him that he’s on Louis’s side in this, that he’s only returning Harry’s hug and manly pat on the back to avoid conflict. Louis wonders if it would be different if Harry had gotten here first, had won their old friends back with all his charm and flashiness before Louis got the chance.

Harry turns to Perrie next, and gives her a tight smile, like he remembers her face but can’t think of her name. “How are you, dear?” Harry asks her, with all the charisma of a half-dead grandmother meeting her least favorite grandchild’s new partner.

Perrie doesn’t say anything, just continues staring at Harry like she’d quite enjoy the process of spooning his eyeballs out with the ladle from the bowl of punch on the buffet table, so Harry turns, finally, to the last member of the little group, the one immediately beside him, trembling like the string of a guitar recently plucked, strung high and wildly out of tune.

“Oh,” Harry says, like he wasn’t expecting Louis to be Louis. As if he might have been able to expect anyone else to be standing where Louis is standing. “Hi, um.”

It gets properly awkward then, but still, Harry doesn’t seem nearly as uncomfortable as Louis would like him to be. He counts his bravery on each of the fingers of his left hand and finally turns to look up at Harry, blinking once like he is completely, wholly uninterested in his existence. And _Harry’s_ the one with the Oscar. Sure.

“This is my fiance,” Harry says, gesturing to the girl that’s got her long, spindly fingers laced through Harry’s, her other hand curled around his forearm. “Camille, this is, uh, everyone.”

“So lovely to meet you all,” Camille says, like she means it. She’s French, Louis thinks haughtily. He hates her.

“Niall,” Harry says, pointing to Niall. “And Liam. And, um,” he turns to Perrie once again, like he actually expects any of them to believe that he’s forgotten Perrie’s name.

“Perrie,” Perrie says, nearly spitting her own name at him. “And this is Louis,” she says, before Harry can say it. Louis loves her.

Perrie promptly attaches herself to Louis’s arm, much in the same way Camille is currently plastered to Harry, like convincing Camille that she and Louis are together is going to solve any of the problems with their current situation. Camille doesn’t seem phased or interested in the slightest, despite her pleasant smile.

Louis is going to pass out. Perrie is squeezing his hand so, so tightly, and Louis’s shoulder is pressed up against Harry’s still from when Harry wormed himself into the conversation, and neither of them are moving away, like neither of them will admit defeat. Never, not once in a million years, did Louis think he would ever be in the same room as Harry Styles again, let alone touching shoulders with him and refusing to pull away. He is never, ever, _ever_ coming to another high school reunion.

“You were all friends?” Camille asks cheerfully, like she’s interested in Harry’s past life. Louis can’t help it, can’t suppress the laugh bubbling up in his chest at the sheer lunacy of it all, and then he’s letting out one single, emphatic snort, and suddenly all eyes are on him.

Harry gets appropriately awkward then, finally, and turns to Camille. “Yeah,” he says, swallowing hard. “Remember that band I told you I was in?”

“Oh!” Camille says, like she does remember. Louis wonders if she really does. “I do remember,” she says. “You won that competition!”

Louis is going to vomit. He is going to be sick, right here, right now, he’s absolutely sure of it, so instead of bearing another second of this torture, he presses his empty glass into Perrie’s hand and turns on his heel, dragging his shoulder away from Harry’s with all the force of a storm-powered tidal wave, marching a straight line through the function room and directly out the door.

It’s warm outside, the kind of muggy, balmy warm that usually doesn’t linger like this until the middle of the summer. Louis marches all the way through the parking lot, finds his own car, and collapses into it, putting his head down against the steering wheel for a long few minutes.

The longer he thinks about it, the more sure he becomes that Camille is Camille Rowe, the supermodel, because _of course she is_. She’s Harry’s _fiance_. The last Louis heard, Harry was married to some other supermodel, Kendall something-or-other, Louis honestly does not care to know, but he does wonder what went wrong with that marriage.

Part of him suspects he already knows.

He goes out of his way, usually, to stay out of Harry’s life, to not keep tabs on him in any way, shape, or form. It’s hard sometimes, given Harry’s status as a household name in America and most of the other western countries of the world, but he does his best, and usually, up until now, it’s been very effective, and his feelings have seldom been this hurt since the last time he googled Harry’s name just to see what might come up.

Before he can start overthinking too much, someone opens his car door, and Louis flinches. Part of him almost expects to see Harry when he looks up, but it’s not Harry, Harry would never come after him. Ten years, and Harry has never once come after him.

“Get out,” Perrie says, tapping his arm once.

“I’m not fucking going back in there,” he says, jaw clenched.

“You don’t have to,” Perrie says, stooping down a little to give him a look. “But get out and let me drive.”

Louis blinks, and then moves to comply, standing up out of the car like he’s in a daze. He goes around to the passenger side of his own car and gets back in while Perrie sits down behind the wheel, adjusting the seat a little bit because her legs have been longer than his since eighth grade and she’ll never let him forget it, even when he’s so upset over a ten-year-old heartbreak that he thinks he could just melt into the car seat and cease to exist altogether. 

They don’t speak while Perrie drives. Louis puts his head back against the headrest and stares up at the ceiling, wondering when exactly he became such a sorry excuse for a man. He thinks Perrie will just take him home, because where else would they go at 10:00 on a Saturday night? Perrie has two kids and a babysitter getting paid hourly, and Louis is too much of a loser to have anywhere else to be. He fails to notice that they’ve been driving much longer than it should take to cover the distance between the country club and Louis’s apartment, and when Perrie finally slows to a stop and puts the car in park, he’s shocked to discover that they’re not at Perrie’s house, either.

They used to come here a lot in high school, and in college during breaks, in smaller and smaller groups as everyone fucked off to live their lives until it was just Louis and Perrie left, the two runts of the litter still stuck somewhere between Whitfield and a great big abyss. It’s just a small cliff that looks out over the town, not nearly as scenic as these spots always are in the movies, but still secluded and private enough that it envelopes Louis in a sense of safety the moment he realizes where they are. 

Perrie reaches in front of him to dig through his glove box, and he doesn’t bother asking what she’s looking for. She comes back a moment later with a tupperware she must have known she could be sure to find in there, and without saying a word, they both climb out of the car and up onto the hood, and Louis rests his chin on his knees while he watches Perrie struggle to roll the joint with her French-tipped acrylic nails.

“I’m sorry I made you go,” Perrie says, handing over the messy joint once she’s finished rolling it.

Louis takes it and digs the lighter out of his pocket, taking a long, slow hit and then passing it back over. “It was good to see Liam and Niall.”

“I didn’t think he’d come,” Perrie says, almost under her breath, like she’s mad at herself for not being able to predict the future.

“Neither did I,” Louis says, a translucent cloud of smoke obstructing his view of Whitfield for a moment before dissipating into the air.

Perrie starts choking beside him, and Louis shifts his head to watch her recover, smoke falling from her lips in tiny puffs of clouds. “God, I haven’t smoked in so long,” she says, taking another, slightly more successful hit. “Nikki would be so mad at me right now.”

“Don’t let me corrupt you,” Louis says, snatching the joint back and holding onto it for another few hits in a row.

“Are you okay?” Perrie asks, once Louis can start to feel the smoke going to his head.

Louis doesn’t say anything, just puts the joint back between his lips before he’s ready and breathes in, in, in.

“It’s okay to not be okay,” Perrie says. “It’s okay, Louis.”

“It’s been ten years,” Louis says. 

Perrie nods, and Louis breathes out another cloud of smoke. “And are you okay?”

Louis looks over at her, eyes suddenly full of tears. “Why can’t I get over it?”

Perrie coos, moving closer to lay her head on his shoulder. She hugs him around his waist, and Louis buries his face in her hair, joint forgotten between his trembling fingers.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Perrie says, “I’m not over the two of you breaking up, either.” Louis doesn’t say anything, just breathes in deep and forces his budding tears back down into the bottle where they came from. “If there was one couple from our little group of misfits that should have lasted, it was you guys,” Perrie says. “Where did it all go wrong?”

Louis doesn’t answer, picking his head up to take another hit of the joint. It’s working, but it’s working too slow, and he needs to feel better _now_ , needs the burning in his eyes and his stomach and his heart to go away. 

“Man, look at us,” Perrie sighs. 

“Hm?” Louis hums, looking down at her.

“We’re two washed up 28-year-old drama kids, still living in our hometown, sitting on the hood of the same car you’ve had since high school smoking weed, except I’m a divorced, unemployed mother of two, and you’re, well,” she shrugs.

“And I’m a pathetic fucking loser who can’t even get over his first love, let alone get his career off the ground,” Louis grits out.

Perrie snuggles a little closer to him, probably getting makeup all over his shirt, but he doesn’t care. Sometimes he thinks it’d be nice to just get in his car and send himself hurtling over this cliff, streak across the sky over Whitfield one more time like the burnt out shooting star he was probably always meant to be.

He smokes the rest of the joint himself, because Perrie has kids to go home to, and one of them has got to be able to drive. They sit there for another hour, at least, until Louis has flicked the burnt remains of the joint into the grass next to the car and Perrie has complained about her ass falling asleep for the third time.

“Remember the pact we made in high school?” Perrie asks, sitting up finally and looking over at him.

“When we both swore to never piss our pants again?” Louis frowns.

“No, but that one was good, too,” Perrie says, smiling. “I meant the one where we promised that if neither of us were married by the time we turned 30, we’d marry each other.”

Louis lets out one loud, honking laugh, shaking his head. “Better start planning the wedding, then, because I don’t think either of our sorry asses is getting married in the next two years.”

Perrie laughs brightly, wrapping one arm around his shoulders. “I’d marry you,” she says, laughing again at Louis’s sour expression. “Anyone would be lucky to marry you.”

Louis’s face falls a bit, and Perrie must notice, because she leans in and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. 

“C’mon,” she says, sliding off the car and reaching a hand back for him. “It’s cold out. You’re sleeping over mine tonight,” she says.

Louis frowns, taking Perrie’s hand and letting her pull him off the hood of the car, too. “Don’t you think Izzy and Nikki have seen their uncle Louis cry enough in their lives thus far?”

“Honestly, I kinda like it when you cry in front of them,” Perrie admits, shrugging one shoulder. “It teaches them about nontoxic masculinity, which is a lesson they never got from their father.”

Louis laughs, rolling his eyes and climbing back into his own passenger seat while Perrie takes the wheel again. Maybe marrying Perrie wouldn’t even be the worst idea; he loves her girls like they’re his own, and he loves Perrie even more, somehow, and the tax benefits definitely wouldn’t hurt. The closer he gets to thirty, the more appealing it sounds, but there’s still a tiny voice way back in the furthest corner of his mind that always tells him to keep going, to keep trying, not to give up just yet. He doesn’t know what that voice is on about, or if maybe he should just give in and check into the local psych ward, but he likes to think that someday, eventually, his luck has _got_ to turn.

+

There’s a soft knock on the door, but Louis jumps anyway, whirling around and dropping Lottie’s doll, cheeks already pinking. His mom said it was okay to play with Lottie’s toys if he asked nicely first, but Lottie isn’t even home today, and he swears he was going to put it back before she got home from soccer, and it’s not like he was doing anything, anyway, it’s just his Spider-Man toy was lonely and— 

“A phone call for you, Mr. Tomlinson,” his mom says, amused. Louis relaxes when he realizes he’s not about to get shouted at for touching other people’s things without permission, eyes falling to the landline that his mom has cradled against her shoulder.

“For me?” Louis asks, sitting up on his knees. “Who is it?”

“A certain young man from south Whitfield,” his mom says, holding the phone out for him to take. “Just say hello.”

Louis takes the phone, eyes wide, and presses it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, Louis!” a chipper little voice giggles from down the line. Louis gasps when he realizes who the voice belongs to, lighting up immediately. He’s never had a phone call just for him before; his mom always makes him talk on the phone when Nan calls, but Nan never calls just to speak to him, not like this.

“Harry!” Louis says, beaming up at his mom. “Why are you calling me?”

“I asked my mom if you could come over and play today, and she told me to call you and ask you to ask your mom if you can come over to play today,” Harry says all at once, so loudly it almost hurts Louis’s ear. “And she dialed your number and gave me the phone to speak to you, and your mom answered, but I didn’t want to ask her if you could come over, so could you ask her if you could come over to play today, please?” he says.

Louis gasps, holding the receiver against his shoulder like he sees his mom do all the time when he interrupts her phone calls. “Mom,” he says, very seriously, “could I go over to Harry’s today to play?”

His mom looks entertained, leaning against the doorway to his bedroom, hands resting on the swell of her stomach where Louis’s baby sister is growing. “I don’t see why not,” she says sweetly. 

Louis presses the phone back to his ear, smiling down at the carpet. “She said yes!”

“ _Yes_!” Harry shouts, and then there’s a rustling noise like Harry is pressing his phone to his own shoulder. “Mom, he said that she said yes,” Louis hears him say, voice muffled. Harry’s mom says something in the background, too quietly for Louis to hear, and then Harry’s back. “My mom says to tell your mom that you can come over whenever she can drive you, and that you can stay for dinner if you want, or my mom can drive you home before dinner,” he says.

Louis blinks, pressing the phone to his shoulder again to relay the message to his mother. “Do you want to stay for dinner?” his mom asks, and Louis nods so quickly his brain rattles around in his head. Harry’s mom makes the _best_ spaghetti in the _world_. “Then, yeah, that’s fine.”

“What’s your mom making for dinner?” Louis asks into the phone, holding one finger up to his mother as if to tell her to wait for the answer.

Harry asks, muffled again, what his mother is making for dinner, and then breathes loudly into the phone. “She says spaghetti.”

“Yes,” Louis hisses. “I’m in.”

“Yes!” Harry cheers loudly. 

“Okay,” Louis says, standing up off the floor. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay,” Harry says. “I’m excited.”

“Me too,” Louis says breathlessly. “Okay, love you, bye.”

“Love you, too,” Harry says. “Bye!”

Louis hangs up the phone, handing it back to his mother proudly. 

“Did you tell him that you love him?” she asks, laughing, taking the phone back and tucking it under her arm.

“Yes,” Louis says. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say when you hang up the phone?”

“Not necessarily,” his mom says. “You don’t always have to tell people you love them, but you should tell them if you do,” she says.

“Oh,” Louis frowns, nodding once.

“Did he say it back?” his mom asks, laughing like some part of this is very, very entertaining for her.

“Yeah,” Louis says, “he did.”

“That’s so cute,” his mom hums, laying a hand over her heart. “You love each other.”

“Is that okay?” Louis asks, confused as to why his mother is _still_ laughing about it.

“It’s perfectly okay,” his mom says. “I’d hope you two love each other, with all the time you spend together.”

“Why’s it so funny?” Louis asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It just makes me happy to see you do grown up things, like talking on the phone,” his mom says, ruffling his hair and then smoothing it out again immediately. “You’re growing up pretty fast, little guy.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll have another baby soon,” Louis says, poking her stomach gently. “So you won’t have to be so sad when I’m all grown up.”

“You’ll always be my baby, Lou,” she says, bending forward to drop a kiss to his forehead. “You, and Lottie, and Felicite, too, when she arrives. Now, go put Lottie’s doll back where you found it and then get your shoes on, I’ve got to run to the grocery store after I drop you at Harry’s house and we’re losing daylight.”

Louis grins, rushing past her and down the hall to Lottie’s room to deposit the toy back into her toybox. He still has to hold his mom’s hand on the stairs, but he’s finally learned how to do up his velcro shoes by himself, and then they’re off to Harry’s house, Louis’s favorite place in the world, aside from his own house.

+

The thing about Harry and Louis is that they’ve always been next to each other, in every sense. Louis was born first by a little more than a month, but even as embryos, they were sure friends before either of them was even a person yet. Harry’s mom and Louis’s mom were childhood best friends, too, grew up in houses right next door to each other, lived their entire lives in sync, even got married in the same month and moved to the same medium-sized town in western Massachusetts just a couple of streets apart. They got pregnant around the same time, too, and though that part wasn’t exactly planned, everything that came after it was.

Louis met Harry for the first time at two months old, when Harry was still a crinkly, cranky little newborn with round, glassy eyes and sparse, downy hair. Louis wasn’t much better himself, at that point, but at least he had the bodily awareness to focus his big blue eyes on the camera in the picture that they now both have framed in their houses. They’ve been having playdates at least weekly ever since, and despite the pressure to be best friends right off the bat, they’ve been absolutely inseparable for longer than either of them can remember.

Luckily, Louis lives just inside the jurisdiction to put him at South Whitfield Elementary, the same elementary school as his best and only friend, Harry. They were in the same kindergarten class last year, as per the request of both of their mothers, and they’re in the same first grade class this year, too. Harry’s name always happens to come right before Louis’s on the attendance sheet, as well, so they always get sat next to each other in class, at least for the first few days. Last year, Harry’s sit-upon got moved halfway across the room because Louis wouldn’t stop tugging at his curls and distracting him during lessons, but Harry had cried so much in his new place in the room that they let him move back before the end of the day, anyway. 

This year, they’ve got real desks, because they’re _big kids_ now. First grade is in a whole different wing of the school, and there’s a lot of familiar faces scattered about the room, but there’s also a few Louis has only ever seen in the bus lines or at recess, and some he’s never seen before at all. There’s one girl, in particular, who Louis is sure he’s never seen before, but she’s got on a white dress with purple watercolor butterflies all over and a pink velvet scrunchie in her wild, frizzy hair, and something about her is so intriguing that Louis can’t help but get up before class starts to go say hello to her.

“Hi,” he says, hovering close to her desk before she’s even all the way in her seat. The girl flinches a little, but she doesn’t look scared, cocking her head at him confusedly.

“Hi,” she says back, somehow smiling and frowning at the same time.

“I’m Louis,” Louis says, showing the girl all of his teeth. “I like your dress.”

“Thanks,” the girl says, her smile turning a little more genuine. “I’m Perrie, and my mom picked it out for me.”

“My mom picked out my outfit, too,” Louis says, looking down at his blue jeans and plaid shirt.

“Cool,” Perrie says.

“That’s my friend, Harry,” Louis says, pointing to where Harry’s watching him, bug-eyed, from a desk one row and two spots away. Perrie turns around and gives Harry a little wave, which Harry returns with reddened cheeks. “You can play with us at recess, if you want to,” Louis says, shrugging one shoulder.

“Cool,” Perrie says again, looking back up at him. “I’m new, I don’t have any friends yet.”

“Can you run fast?” Louis asks.

“Pretty fast,” Perrie says. “Faster than my sister, but she’s little.”

“If you’re fast enough, we can get to the swings before anyone else, and then we don’t have to wait in line,” Louis says. “Harry and me love the swings.”

“How about the monkey bars?” Perrie asks.

Louis flushes a little, glancing over at Harry. He doesn’t want to admit that neither of them have ever been able to get all the way across. “Swings are better,” he shrugs.

“Alright,” Perrie says. “Deal.”

“Cool,” Louis grins, and then the teacher asks everyone in gentle voice to find their seats and take out a pencil, so Louis scurries back to his desk and digs his pencil box out of his backpack.

“Do you know her?” Harry whispers, while they’re supposed to be tracing their names onto the blank, wide-lined nametags on each of their desks.

“I do now,” Louis whispers back. “Her name’s Perrie, she’s gonna play on the swings with us later.”

Harry doesn’t say anything to that, so Louis forgets about it, writing his name as carefully as he can and then standing the name tag up on the front of his desk, so his teacher can see.

“Beautiful penmanship, Lewis,” the teacher says, shuffling over with a warm smile to press a small golden star sticker on the top corner of Louis’s name tag.

“It’s Lou-ee,” Harry says, before Louis can say it himself.

“Oh, my apologies, Louis,” the teacher says, giving him another gold star for her mistake. Louis beams at Harry, and Harry grins back proudly, like he’s done something heroic. The teacher moves to look at Harry’s name tag, next, and she frowns, tilting her head.

“Harry,” she reads, and Harry nods quickly, looking up to show her all of his teeth. “Your R’s are backwards, dear,” she says, laying his nametag flat again and using the eraser end of Harry’s pencil to wipe the two middle letters of his name away. “Try again.”

Harry goes as red as fruit punch and scrambles for his pencil back, quickly drawing two shaky, but correctly oriented letter R’s in the middle of his nametag. 

“Beautiful,” the teacher says, standing his name tag up and pressing a gold star onto the corner of it, like she did for Louis. She moves on after that, meandering around the rest of the classroom, and Louis giggles, kicking out at Harry’s chair.

“Harry backwards R’s,” he teases quietly. “That’s your name now.”

Harry smiles, but he doesn’t look up at Louis again for the rest of class, his cheeks stained red for most of the morning.

+

For as long as Louis and Harry have been friends, neither of them have ever really had another friend, at least not any quite as strong or as important as their friendship with each other. Louis made friends with this boy at soccer camp last summer, but that boy went to North Elementary, and they lost touch after camp ended, anyway. Harry, on the other hand, doesn’t seem terribly interested in being friends with anyone except Louis, which is fine with Louis, of course, but it would be nice if Harry would stop hiding behind him and staring at the girl in the butterfly dress like she’s some kind of dog with big, scary teeth.

Other kids don’t typically like Louis or Harry very much, and it’s very rare that someone else agrees to play with either of them, let alone _both_ of them, so Louis would really appreciate it if Harry would stop blowing this for them. Perrie looks nervous, watching Harry as unsurely as he’s watching her, and then she looks up at Louis.

“Is he okay?” she whispers, eyes flickering back to Louis. “He hasn’t said anything.”

“He’s just shy,” Louis says, stepping to the side and pulling Harry out from behind him, forcing him to stand next to him, instead. “Stop being weird,” he breathes, and Harry flushes.

“Hey, Harry,” Perrie says, lighting up like she has an idea. “What’s your favorite animal?”

“My favorite animal?” Harry repeats, looking at Louis as if Louis will answer for him. Louis nudges him, so Harry looks back at Perrie, blinking once. “Cats, maybe. Or fish.”

“Cool!” Perrie says, looking at Louis. “And yours?”

“Lions,” Louis says, curling his fingers into claws. “Because they’re tough.”

“Mine’s angler fishes,” Perrie says. “Let’s pretend to be our favorite animals!”

“What’s an angler fish?” Harry asks, frowning at Perrie. 

Perrie scoffs, looking at Louis, but Louis doesn’t know, either, so he just shrugs and shakes his head. “It’s a fish with a reading light on his head,” Perrie says, hooking one finger like a drooping unicorn horn on her forehead. “It’s got these big, sharp teeth and its eyes don’t work, so it just follows the light from its head around to find things to eat.”

“How’s it follow the light if its eyes don’t work?” Harry asks.

“I don’t know,” Perrie says. “Maybe it’s magic.”

“Magic?” Harry says. “A magic fish?”

“Maybe,” Perrie says again. “Stranger things have happened.”

Before Harry can say anything to that, someone brushes up behind Louis, almost knocking him off balance in their effort to get past him. Louis looks up just in time to see a pair of hands shoving Harry hard enough to send him tumbling to the ground, wood chips erupting around him like a cloud from a cartoon bomb.

“‘Sup, bozo?” an ugly voice laughs, as Harry picks his head up off the ground, wood chips all stuck in his curls. The bully gets a foot around his ankle as he tries to stand up, knocking him back onto the ground again, and Louis curls his hands into fists at his sides.

“Bug off, Parker,” Louis says in his toughest voice. “Don’t you have boogers to eat, or something?”

“Your mom eats boogers,” Parker sneers, but he lumbers off, leaving Louis to pick Harry up off the ground and start brushing the wood chips out of his hair.

“Who the heck is that?” Perrie asks, her voice dark. “And why is he so rotten?”

Louis shrugs, tweaking Harry’s curls about to distract him, to make him smile, to keep him from releasing the flustered tears in his eyes. It works, it always works, and as Harry pulls himself together, Louis turns back to Perrie.

“Parker King,” Louis says. “He’s a bully.”

“He’s the worst person in the world,” Harry says, still sniffling a little and brushing the wood chips off his corduroy pants. 

“Why’s he so mean?” Perrie asks again.

“My mom says he’s got bees in his brain,” Louis says gravely.

“Bees?” Perrie frowns.

“Bees,” Louis confirms. “Angry bees. They buzz around inside his head and sting him all over, and they make him so angry he’s got to take it out on other people,” he says.

“Well, that’s no excuse to be so rotten,” Perrie says. “He should get the bees out some other way.”

Louis just shrugs again, picking a couple of wood chips off of Harry’s back, and before either of them can stop it, Perrie’s marching away, right over to where Parker King is picking a new victim by the jungle gym. It’s one of those kids that Louis has seen around before but never spoken to, and he’s blissfully unaware of the hand Parker King is about to knot in the back of his shirt to send him toppling over the other side of the jungle gym. Louis winces as it happens, but Parker doesn’t even get time to laugh about what he’s done before Perrie’s tapping him firmly on the shoulder, one hand propped primly on her purple butterflied hip. 

“Hey,” she says, “Parker King.”

Parker turns on her like a storm cloud, towering over her at nearly four and a half feet tall. 

“Take your bees and get lost,” Perrie says.

Parker’s face twists into a frown, and he laughs condescendingly. “What?”

“Leave that kid alone,” Perrie says, pointing to the fluffy haired boy picking himself up out of the wood chips, already brushing tears off his cheeks. “He did nothing to you.”

“Make me,” Parker King says, snarling right in Perrie’s face. Perrie snarls right back, but her little button nose and smattering of freckles have nothing on Parker’s ugly, ruddy-cheeked mug. “Stupid girl,” he tuts, making to turn away as if he hasn’t just made the biggest mistake of his short life.

Perrie lunges at him, launching herself up onto his back and getting her legs locked around his waist, hands in his hair. Parker King starts screaming immediately, like a baby, trying to shake Perrie off while she clings on like a girl on a bull ride, shouting in his ear for him to apologize.

The teachers break it up within seconds, but Perrie comes away with a handful of Parker King’s ugly sandy brown hair, and Parker King comes away adequately de-crowned.

Perrie gets yelled at a little, but she gets off easy; the teachers know what a pain Parker King is and, honestly, Perrie only did what everyone else wishes they could do. Perrie looks like some tough knuckled, heroic princess warrior striding back to where Louis and Harry are staring, slack jawed, hearts racing.

The closer she gets, Louis can see that her eyes are swimming with tears, but everyone’s looking at her now, and if they see her cry, she’ll lose every bit of the power she just gained. He takes her hand and leads her away from the rest of the playground, nodding for Harry to follow, too, and the three of them curl up under the slide no one ever plays on at the far side of the playground.

“You,” Louis says, thumbing away the first and only tear that drips from Perrie’s eye, “are the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

“The _coolest_ ,” Harry breathes, like he’s absolutely in awe.

Perrie sniffles and smiles, finally opening her clenched fist and letting the handful of Parker King’s hair float away in the slight September breeze. “Are you okay, Harry?” she asks, brushing the rest of the hair out from between her fingers and reaching out to tug gently on one of Harry’s curls, the way she’s seen Louis do probably a hundred times in the four or so hours they’ve known each other.

Harry leans into Louis’s side a little, like he’s uncomfortable with being touched by anyone that isn’t him, but he nods. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “I can’t believe you stood up to Parker King.”

“No one has ever stood up to Parker King,” Louis says. “Last year, I saw him make his own _mom_ cry.”

“He’s just a rotten 6-year-old kid,” Perrie says. “He’s not so scary if you don’t let him be scary.”

“I heard he’s 7,” Louis whispers conspiratorially. “He had to do kindergarten twice.”

Perrie purses her lips, looking down. “I feel sorry for him.”

“Sorry?” Louis scoffs. “You just said he’s a rotten kid, and you’re _right_.”

“I feel sorry for him, too,” Harry says. “It must be awful having all those bees in your head and not knowing what to do about them.”

Perrie nods, and Louis falls quiet, thinking about it for a moment. Harry and Perrie are right, he guesses, but it doesn’t make him hate Parker King’s guts any less.

Suddenly, a round, fluffy head peeks around the slide, and Harry and Louis jump. Perrie just smiles warmly, and Louis recognizes the new face as the kid Perrie just saved from certain death.

“Hi,” the kid says, crouching down next to the slide. “Can I sit with you guys?”

“Of course,” Perrie says, scooting over closer to Harry to make room for the new kid. Harry presses imperceptibly closer to Louis, but he doesn’t try to hide, which seems like a big development. “I’m Perrie,” Perrie says, extending her hand to the new boy like a grown up.

“I’m Niall,” the boy says, shaking her hand eagerly. “Thanks for fighting Parker for me. I wish you’d been a couple seconds earlier, but still, that was really nice of you,” he says.

“Someone had to do it,” Perrie shrugs. “I wish I hadn’t ripped his hair, because that wasn’t very nice, but he made me so _angry_. Anyway, Niall, these are my friends, Louis, and Harry.”

Niall waves hello, beaming at each of them in turn. Niall seems comprised entirely of smiles and sunlight, and Louis decides he likes him already. “Do you guys like soccer?” Niall asks. “My cousin got soccer goals in his backyard for his birthday last week, and he said I could bring friends over sometime and play with them,” he says.

“I love soccer!” Louis says, happily returning the high-five Niall offers. 

“Soccer is cool,” Harry agrees; he’s terrible at soccer, Louis knows, but Niall seems like the type that’ll go easy on him, like Louis does when he talks him into playing. 

“I’ve never played,” Perrie says, “but it sounds fun.”

Recess ends before they can talk about very much else, and as they all line up to go back inside the school with their classes, Harry tugs on the sleeve of Louis’s shirt and beckons him close.

“I’m not very good at soccer,” he says, panicked. “If we go to Niall’s cousin’s house—” 

“It’ll be fine,” Louis grins. “We’re 6, Harry, and I’m almost sure Niall’s cousin isn’t a FIFA world champion,” he says.

Harry nods, relaxing quickly. “Okay,” he says. “I feel better.”

“Good,” Louis says, poking his finger into the dimple that forms in Harry’s cheek when he smiles and then turning back around, following the leader back into the school and all the way down the hall to the first grade wing.

+

At the end of the school day, they form 7 long lines in the courtyard, each headed by a teacher holding a sign with a different letter on. Last year, in kindergarten, the teachers led each of their students to the proper bus line, but now that they’re first graders, they’re trusted enough to find their own bus line — like real grown ups.

Louis and Harry are both on C bus, even though they live a few streets apart; Whitfield is shaped weird, which makes the bus routes weird, which means that each of the seven buses cross routes at least once or twice as they snake all over town, delivering kids to school in the morning and then back home in the afternoon. Neither Perrie or Niall are on C bus; Perrie is on G bus, because she lives way out on the outskirts of town, and Niall is on B bus, because he lives pretty close to school, but not close enough to be on the tight circular route of A bus. 

Louis plops down in the grass while they wait for the bus, and Harry falls into place between him, folding his legs under himself while Louis splays open wide, like he’s relaxing on a beach.

“First day of first grade,” Louis says happily, “and we made _two_ new friends.”

“ _You_ made two new friends,” Harry says. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Well, they’re still your friends, too, aren’t they?” Louis says. “You’re my best friend, so any friends either of us makes becomes the other’s friend automatically, I think.”

“What’s a best friend?” Harry frowns.

“It’s the friend you like the best out of all your friends,” Louis says. “It just means I like you best.”

Harry nods, but his eyes are wet, suddenly, and Louis frowns. “Um, what happens if you decide that, um, you like Perrie or Niall better than me?” Harry asks quietly, hardly looking up at him.

“That’ll never happen,” Louis says decisively. 

“But what if it does?” Harry presses. “How do you know it won’t happen?”

“Because you’re special,” Louis says, reaching for Harry’s hand and squeezing it. “Perrie’s really cool and tough and awesome, but she’s a girl, and my mom says that girls have cooties, so we obviously can’t get too close to her. Niall seems cool, too, but we don’t really know him very well yet, and besides, you’ve got better hair, and you hug me way more, so,” he shrugs, like that’s that.

Harry smiles, but his eyes are still wet. “What are cooties?” he asks. “And why is my hair better than Niall’s?”

“Mom just said that girls have cooties and you shouldn’t kiss them, but I don’t want to kiss Perrie, anyway,” Louis says. “I guess maybe cooties are just what makes girls different from boys?”

“I thought that was penises?” Harry frowns.

“What’s a penis?” Louis says.

“I don’t really know,” Harry says. “Gemma says that boys have them and girls don’t.”

“So boys have penises, and girls have cooties? That’s the difference?” Louis says.

“That sounds right,” Harry nods. “And what about my hair?” he asks, smiling. He’s just fishing for compliments, at this point, but he’s had kind of a tough day, so Louis decides to appease him.

“It’s soft, and it’s curly, and it feels good when I put my face in it,” Louis says, leaning forward to nuzzle into Harry’s hair, as if to prove his point. Harry giggles, hugging Louis around the waist while he’s got him so close and trapping him in, until Louis hugs him back.

“You’re my best friend, too,” Harry says into his chest. “You’re my best everything.”

Louis grins, petting affectionately at Harry’s hair. “We’ll always be best friends. Best _everythings_.”

“Always?” Harry asks, looking up at him.

Louis pokes his nose, smiling when Harry smiles. “Always.”

-

The first thing that registers in Louis’s brain as he starts to wake up is warm, milk-scented air on his face, and he scrunches his nose up, peeking one eye open to catch the source. It’s Izzy, of course, kneeling on the floor beside the couch with her nose just about touching Louis’s, watching him sleep.

“Enjoying the view, milk breath?” Louis mumbles, nudging her face away with his own face and then moving back to rub at his eyes.

“Good morning!” Izzy squeals, clambering up on top of him and worming herself under his blanket. “Mommy said I couldn’t cuddle you until you woke up.”

“Makes sense,” Louis says, wrapping his arms around Izzy and settling down on his back. Izzy’s toes are freezing when she worms them between Louis’s thighs, but he doesn’t complain, just tucks the blanket around her and holds her a little tighter.

“You smell bad,” Izzy says, from where she’s got her whole face nuzzled in close under Louis’s chin.

“Thanks, babes,” Louis says, jamming a finger in her armpit just to hear her laugh.

“Izzy,” Perrie’s voice says, and Louis looks over the back of the couch to find Perrie peeking out from the doorway to the kitchen. “I told you to leave him alone.”

Izzy pouts, sitting up a little to look down at Louis. “You’re sad?” she asks knowingly.

“Who said I’m sad?” Louis scoffs.

“Mommy said you had a sad night, and that’s why you slept over,” Izzy says.

“Hey, Izzy, maybe don’t pester people about whether they’re sad or not,” Perrie says, “it’s not very good manners.” She disappears back into the kitchen, then, and Izzy cuddles back into Louis’s chest.

“Why are you sad, Uncle Louis?” Izzy whispers, like she doesn’t want her mom to hear how deeply she cares. Louis could cry.

“I’m not actually very sad at the present moment,” Louis says. “I don’t know, Iz.”

Izzy hums, nodding wisely. “Just sad at life?”

Louis smiles, flattening one hand on Izzy’s back and drumming his fingers down her spine. “Maybe.”

“Mommy gets sad at life sometimes, too,” Izzy says.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “It happens.”

“Don’t worry,” Izzy says, “Mommy and NIkki are making pancakes to cheer you up!”

There’s a small crash from the kitchen, and then Nikki’s voice shouts, “You ruined the surprise, stupid!”

“Hey!” Perrie shouts back. “Don’t use that word!”

“Way to go, stupid!” Louis shouts, grinning when Izzy laughs.

“ _Louis_!” Perrie shrieks, but Louis doesn’t pay her any attention, too busy pulling faces to keep Izzy laughing.

They’re called into the kitchen after a few more minutes for breakfast, and Louis gets the seat of honor right between his two darling nieces, both of them arguing about whose idea it was to make Louis a special don’t-be-so-sad breakfast. At the end of the day, Louis knows it was Perrie’s idea, because she hasn’t taken her eyes off of him since they sat down, probably because she thinks he’s going to shatter the moment she looks away.

Louis hates that this isn’t the first get-your-shit-together breakfast Perrie’s had to make for him recently, and he hates that it won’t be the last. That being said, it’s a lovely breakfast, and Louis is never happier than he is when he’s spending time with Perrie’s girls. None of Louis’s actual sisters have had any children for him to spoil yet, so Izzy and Nikki are all he’s got, but he’s perfectly happy with that. The girls haven’t had an easy go of it by any stretch of the imagination, Perrie included, but Perrie works so, so hard to make sure her daughters are happy and healthy and cared for. Louis is so in awe of all of them, does whatever he can to make their lives easier, but if he’s honest, Perrie never needed him for any of that; she’s been in full control of her own life since first grade, and when Louis’s not totally and completely amazed by her, he’s achingly, pitifully jealous.

He can’t stop thinking about what Izzy said earlier: _you’re sad at life_. It’s such a stupidly simple way to say it, but it could not be any more accurate. Izzy said Perrie gets that way too, sometimes, but Louis finds that hard to believe; Perrie has had it rougher than anyone Louis knows, but she also somehow exists at the top of the food chain in every respect in her life, despite how many times she’s been knocked to rock bottom. She climbs back up each and every time, stronger than ever.

When she got pregnant with Nikki, Louis figured her life was over, she’d never be anything but a mother for as long as she lived. Louis couldn’t have been more wrong, though; she was still Perrie, pregnancy and wedding and birth and child-raising and another pregnancy and birth and divorce and single-mothering and working-momming and book-writing and book-flopping and — Louis can hardly even keep track of all the things Perrie’s done, but she’s rocked every single one of them, even the ones that totally sucked.

Louis, on the other hand, feels like he’s been steadily falling to pieces since the day he was born. He can’t get out of his own way, especially lately, and he’s beginning to grow really, really fucking sick of it.

“Right,” Perrie says, bringing Louis out of his head with a single clap of her hands. “Girls, you have soccer in half an hour. Go change, get your bags together, and find yourselves at the front door in fifteen minutes or less.”

The girls are gone before Louis can blink, racing each other through the hallway of Perrie’s single-story ranch, both of them trying to beat each other to their shared bedroom.

“I’ll get out of your hair, as well,” Louis says, picking himself up from the kitchen table and collecting the breakfast dishes. “Unless you want me to bring the girls to soccer for you on my way home.”

“I would massively appreciate that,” Perrie says, crowding him at the sink. “Put those dishes down. I need to talk to you.”

Louis complies, already flushing like he’s about to be scolded for something. He turns sheepishly to face Perrie, but instead of laying into him, she lays her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“I love you,” Perrie says, as Louis hooks his arms over her shoulders. “And so does Nikki, and so does Izzy. I’m absolutely sure that any one of us would lay down our lives for you at any given moment.”

Louis grins, pressing a kiss into Perrie’s hair, her pristine curls from last night pulled back into a messy bun. “Likewise, darling.”

“I need you to know that you are welcome in this house all the time, Louis, you know? No matter what happens, in your life or mine, my door is always open to you. When I said last night that I would marry you, I meant that, because nothing better has ever happened to me in my life than the day I met you in the first grade.”

Louis squeezes her tight, digging his face into her neck. “Perrie,” he sighs. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so fucking gay, but then I remember that, even if I was straight, no man on Earth could ever be good enough for you, least of all me,” he says.

“Damn right,” Perrie says, pulling away and smacking a kiss right on Louis’s mouth. “Now, _please_ , go brush your teeth, and I’ll tell the girls you’re taking them to camp.”

Louis laughs, breathing one hot breath into Perrie’s face and scampering away before she can murder him for it. He closes himself in Perrie’s bathroom and digs out the toothbrush she keeps for him under the sink, and sets about making himself just presentable enough for drop-off at soccer camp.

By the time he comes back to the living room, the girls are waiting by the door like ill-trained marines, bouncing on their toes with their soccer bags slung over their shoulders.

“Ready?” Louis hums. “Off to Uncle Louis’s car!”

The girls shriek and stampede the front door, barely stopping long enough to give Perrie a goodbye kiss each before they’re shoving each other down the driveway and wrestling into the backseat of Louis’s car. Perrie sends Louis off with a kiss to the cheek and a slap on the ass, and Louis’s still smiling when he gets into the car, making sure both girls have their seatbelts done up before he even turns the car on.

It’s about a ten minute drive from Perrie’s house to South Elementary, and he earns himself one kiss from both girls before they tumble back out of the car, frolicking across the field to where the coaches and all the other kids are starting their warm ups. Louis turns the radio down low and folds his arms on the steering wheel for a minute or two, resting his chin on his arms and watching Izzy’s sloppy toe touches, Nikki’s over-excited high knees.

He gets back to thinking about what Izzy said earlier again, about being sad at life. He misses childhood, when being sad was way too hard a task when the whole world was made of magic and there was nothing, really, to worry about. The kids out on the field start passing balls back and forth, and Louis follows them lazily with his eyes, almost feeling the tingle in his own toes every time a tiny cleat makes contact with a child-sized soccer ball. 

About five minutes into practice, Nikki takes a ball straight to the face, and Louis has half a mind to jump out of the car and run to her, but the other half of him just wants to observe, to see what she’ll do.

She goes to the coach first, hand on her reddened cheek, clearly holding back tears. The coach coos at her for a minute, touches her face a little to make sure nothing’s broken, and then leaves her alone to make her own decision, whether she’ll sit out on the bench to recover or shake it off and get back on the field. Nikki sits down in the grass for just a few minutes, breathing slowly, and then picks herself back up, running back to her partner like nothing happened at all.

Louis feels a lot of things, watching her, but most of all, he envies her. He wants to drag her off the field, sit her down and make her explain how she did that, how she took that ball to the face and barely shed a tear before she got back up and ran headlong back into the line of fire. 

He doesn’t know why he can’t be like that, so fearless and resilient. He wishes he could take a soccer ball to the face and jump up smiling, but he can’t, he takes each ball and buries it somewhere deep within himself, weighing him down, making it harder and harder to keep getting up. He feels like he’s been taking balls to the face for a decade, one after the other, end to end, and pretty soon, he’s sure, one of these balls is just going to take him out for good.

-

His first thought when he gets home is that he’s been robbed, but on second thought, no, this mess is definitely actually his own doing. It looks like a bomb went off, for fuck’s sake; this is probably half the reason he’s so depressed, he tells himself, because his apartment looks like something they’d set up in a laboratory to put a rat in and see how long it took to go completely insane.

His bedroom is probably the worst of it, but that’s mostly Perrie’s doing. There are clothes strewn about like trees after a storm from her many, many attempts at dressing him up in something halfway decent last night, and Louis decides that, like Nikki picking herself up and getting back on the field, he needs to take some responsibility for his life and get his shit in order.

He starts in the bedroom, then, sorting all of his clothes into piles and filling his hamper to the brim. He brings it down to the basement when he’s finished and starts a load of laundry, and while it washes, he treks back upstairs to finish putting away everything that didn’t need to be washed. After that, he sorts through and organizes his bedside table, straightens the sheets on his bed, even opens the curtains over the window that look out on the parking lot, and once he’s done, one of those little child-size soccer balls that he’s been keeping lodged inside his chest seems to have been removed.

That seems to set the ball rolling, and now that he’s started cleaning up, he can’t stop. He moves to the living room, clears away all the clutter lying about, washes all the dishes and brushes all the crumbs out from between the couch cushions. The kitchen is an absolute tragedy; he’s pretty sure the last time anything in this apartment got properly cleaned was last summer, after his last breakdown, when Perrie came over and deep cleaned his entire life just to help him out a little.

It takes him several hours to clean the entire kitchen, but even when he’s finished with that, he can’t stop. He breaks out the actual cleaning supplies, shit he didn’t even know he _had_ , like _tile cleaner_ , damnit, he owes Perrie his _life_ , and scrubs his entire apartment from top to bottom, including the sinks and the toilet and even the bottom part under the burners on the stove, where all the burnt crumbs collect when he attempts to cook. He cleans out his refrigerator, sorts through the pile of mail next to his front door, even _vacuums_ the entire apartment, and when he finally stops to take a breath, the whole place is just about sparkling, and it’s gone dark outside.

He’s so proud of himself that he feels the need to text Perrie pictures. Maybe she’ll be proud of him, too, maybe she’ll show the girls, maybe Nikki, in particular, will be proud of him, and then Louis will finally feel like he’s done something worth anything. He hunts around for his phone for a bit, only to realize he’s left it in the car all day long, and he jogs outside to retrieve it.

There’s a few notifications on his lockscreen, but Louis doesn’t pay them much attention, running right back to his apartment to snap pictures for Perrie. There’s a text from a number he doesn’t have saved when he opens iMessage, but he doesn’t bother with that, either, finding Perrie’s text thread and tapping it open.

 _Look what I did!!!!_ he sends, along with four or five pictures of his pristine apartment. _See!! I’m good!! I’m totally fine !!! I cleaned up my apartment, I can clean up my life.. This whole ‘living’ thing is my BITCH !!!!!_

He waits a few minutes to see if Perrie will respond, but she’s probably very busy being a mother and a person who doesn’t exist solely for encouraging Louis, so she doesn’t text back right away. Louis decides to click over to his other unread text message while he waits, opening the new thread and frowning at the length of the message.

_Hey Louis, I got your number from Niall, I hope that’s okay. If it’s not okay, just know that he really didn’t want to give it to me in the first place, but I kinda forced him._  
_You don’t have to answer this text if you don’t want to. I’ll totally understand. But… I’d really love to get the chance to talk to you at some point. If you want to text, that’s fine, or if I can buy you a drink, that would be even better._  
_I felt awful after you rushed out of the reunion last night. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Let me know if you’re free tonight, or any point in the next week, or whenever. It was nice to see you, even if it was brief. x Harry_

Louis’s heart drops so violently he’s pretty sure it lands in his downstairs neighbor’s apartment, and suddenly his hands are shaking so hard he can’t even read the message through a second time. He drags himself to the kitchen and sits down at the table, putting the phone down flat just to read it again.

_Hey Louis, I got your number from Niall, I hope that’s okay. If it’s—_

He whines quietly, scrubbing his hands over his face and then through his hair, clammy fingers taking a few strands with them on their way. He feels like he’s going to be sick, and the first thing he thinks to do is to tap back to his text thread with Perrie to type out a follow up:

_Nvm._

He spends the next ten minutes or so with his head in his hands, trying to force himself to breathe. He doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know what to say, he needs to go down to the basement to get his laundry but he doesn’t trust himself not to just swan dive down the stairs, at this point, and fuck, _fuck_ , he’s going to throw up—

His phone buzzes loudly on the table, and Louis nearly swats it across the kitchen with how hard he jumps. His stomach drops like he’s on a roller coaster, but it’s just Perrie calling, and Louis does his best to collect himself at least a little bit before he answers.

“Perrie?”

“Hey,” Perrie says, like nothing in the world is wrong. “Your apartment looks great.”

“Thanks,” Louis breathes, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m about to vomit all over it.”

“What happened?” Perrie asks.

Louis swallows, and then swallows again, and then tries to speak but has to swallow one more time. “Harry texted me.”

Perrie is silent for a long few seconds, and then a door slams somewhere on her end. “ _What_?”

“Niall gave him my number,” Louis says, “and he texted me to ask me to get a drink with him.”

“Niall Horan will never walk again,” Perrie says, voice low.

“What the fuck do I do,” Louis says, rubbing at his face.

“What do you wanna do?” Perrie asks.

“Die,” Louis says immediately.

“Louis,” Perrie chides.

“Sorry, uh, pass away?” Louis tries.

“ _Louis_.”

“I don’t know what I wanna do,” Louis whines. “I really don’t wanna get a drink with him, or talk to him at all,” he says.

“Then don’t answer,” Perrie says. “And I’ll call Niall and tell him where to put his head.”

Louis is quiet for a minute, pressing his fingers so hard against his left eye that he starts to see shapes. “Perrie…”

“Don’t fucking tell me you’re considering going out with him,” Perrie says quickly.

“I can’t just not answer the text, can I?” Louis says.

“Are you fucking insane?” Perrie says.

“I don’t know!” Louis cries. “Maybe!”

“Louis William Tomlinson,” Perrie says firmly, “sit the fuck down for a second and think about what you’re doing.”

Louis sighs, chewing at his lip for a long moment. “I can’t go,” he says, voice quiet, resigned.

“And why not?” asks Perrie, expectantly. 

“Because I’m weak,” Louis says, “and he’s manipulative, and he’s only doing this to feel better about himself, and it’s not about me at all.”

“Exactly,” Perrie says.

“He’s about to get married for the second fucking time,” Louis adds.

“Yeah!” Perrie says.

“He broke my heart and shattered every single one of my dreams in the same night,” Louis says. “He’s a sack of dog shit and doesn’t deserve my time or energy.

“Mhm!” Perrie hums.

Louis’s quiet for another minute, finally getting his breathing back under control. “Should I post his number online?” he asks eventually, quietly.

“Probably,” Perrie says gravely.

Louis smiles, wiping at some of the moisture that’s somehow gathered in his eyes and taking a deep, slow breath. “Thank you, Perrie,” he mumbles.

“Forever and always, darling,” Perrie says sweetly.

“I think I need to go to bed,” Louis says.

“It’s 7pm,” Perrie says.

“Yeah,” Louis scoffs, “and _your_ daughter woke me up at the ass crack of dawn this morning with her milk breath.”

“She woke you up at 9:30,” Perrie says, unimpressed.

“Exactly!” Louis says.

“Whatever,” Perrie sighs. “Goodnight, loser, I love you.”

“Are you gonna call Niall now?” Louis asks.

“I am absolutely going to call Niall now,” Perrie confirms.

Louis laughs, shaking his head. “Go easy on him,” he pleads. “He’s soft.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Perrie says, and then the line clicks dead.

Louis sits there for a little while longer, reads Harry’s text approximately two hundred more times, and then jams his thumb so hard against the lock button that his nail almost breaks until the phone turns all the way off.

He leaves it on the kitchen table and shuffles to his squeaky clean bathroom, having himself a nice, long, hot shower. His laundry can sit in the dryer until tomorrow, he guesses, because suddenly, he’s so exhausted that the idea of doing anything besides going to bed right now makes him want to die.

Something about peeling back his neatly tucked sheets and climbing into his cold, empty bed while he’s still warm and soft from the shower hits him somewhere deep in his chest, just hard enough to break his heart all over again.

He curls up on his side and sobs into his pillow, pulling the covers right up and over his head. Now that the dam is broken, he can’t contain it, and it all comes rushing out at once, everything he’s been holding in since last night, when he turned around and saw Harry fucking Styles come striding into the function room, as regal and elegant as the Harry that Louis knew never was. It hurts, it hurts so fucking _bad_ , even after all this time, to look at that Harry, that pompous, arrogant, self-obsessed, vindictive, manipulative Harry and know that deep, deep down, there’s got to be a shred of the old Harry somewhere in there, the Harry that used to cry at the mere thought of not being Louis’s favorite person, that used to do everything in his power to make Louis happy, to make Louis proud.

Louis hopes Harry’s proud of himself now, because Louis sure as hell isn’t.

+

It’s weird, being the smallest ones in the school again, especially since the school itself is bigger, too, not perfectly tailored to fit tiny bodies, the way South Elementary School was. The desks are bigger, the chairs are higher, the hallways are longer, and there are so many _people_ everywhere Louis looks, tall lockers that loom way up high over his head, teachers with mean faces and an empty stretch of blacktop where there should be a playground.

Whitfield Middle School is a scary, heartless place, and despite all the growing Louis, Harry, Niall and Perrie have done in the past four years, fifth grade seems like it’s going to be the ultimate test of their will to live.

Within the first week, Louis’s already picked out all the things he loves about middle school, and all the things he hates, helpfully listed as follows: he loves that he gets to see Liam, Niall’s used-to-be cousin every single day in classes, he loves that he is finally officially a Big Kid, and he loves that they get to get up and move from classroom to classroom during the day now, as each class is held in a different room of the school. He hates that he’s the smallest kid in the building, and he hates that Perrie’s already made three new friends, _girls_ , in the week that they’ve been here, and he especially hates that everything is changing.

Perrie decided, independently of Louis and the others, that they needed some more girls in their little band of misfits, because everyone except Perrie was a boy and a girl needs girls, apparently, to talk about stuff that they can’t talk about with boys. Whitfield Middle hosts all the graduates from both South and North Elementary, which means that fifth grade brings a whole new half of a population to their grade, and Perrie has truly chosen the cream of the crop to join their circle.

Liam was the first proper addition, of course, from North Elementary. They’ve been friends with him as long as they’ve been friends with Niall, because they used to be step-cousins before Liam’s mom divorced Niall’s uncle, but they still get to see each other all the time. There’s also Jade, who comes to school every day in the most outlandish outfits she can get past her mom, Jesy, who has more hair on her head than Perrie has freckles on her face and whose energy level gives even Louis a run for his money, and Leigh-Anne, who seems much too cool for any of them, until she gets started talking on and on about musical theater.

In accordance to Louis’s promise all those years ago in first grade, Louis and Harry are still the very best of friends, and the others know very well not to do anything to disturb that. They still ride the bus home together every single day, but now that they’re older and more responsible, they’re allowed to decide where they go after school, and so they trade off every day of the week getting off the bus together at one of their houses to do their homework and mess around until dinner. It’s become a routine, even though it’s only the first week of middle school, but like everything else in Louis and Harry’s friendship, it’s destined to last forever.

Recess, as always, is everyone’s favorite time of the day. It’s shorter now than it was in elementary school, and next year it’ll be even shorter, and in seventh grade, it goes away altogether, so they enjoy every minute of it, kicking a soccer ball back and forth between their little group in the grass beside the blacktop.

The girls are off somewhere else, jumping rope or collecting worms or something, but that’s alright, because Liam has called a top-secret meeting of the boys and they’re all huddled as close as can be while still being able to kick the soccer ball around.

“I think,” Liam says, voice hushed very slightly, “I have a problem.”

“What’s wrong?” Niall asks, kicking the ball toward Louis without taking his eyes off of Liam. He misses spectacularly, and Liam waits while Louis jogs away to get the ball.

“I think I have a crush on someone,” Liam says, looking genuinely pained about it. “My sister said it would happen someday soon, and that I should tell her when it does happen, but I don’t really know how to tell.”

“My sister says it’s like having bugs in your stomach, or something,” Harry says, looking horrified on Liam’s behalf. “Is it horrible?”

“Kinda,” Liam says. “It’s like, whenever she talks to me, my face gets all hot and I forget how to be a person.”

“You should ask her out,” Louis says, kicking the ball over to Harry. “Or at least see if she likes you back, first.”

“Maybe we could help you find out!” Niall says. “Who is she?”

“I can’t tell you,” Liam hisses, his face going red very quickly. 

“Why not?” Niall pouts.

“You’ll make fun of me,” Liam says, looking down.

“No we won’t,” Louis says gently.

“Tell us!” Harry says. “If you tell yours, I’ll tell you mine.”

“You have a crush on someone, too?” Niall asks.

Harry goes even redder than Liam, looking over at Louis. “Uh, no.”

“See? Harry was gonna trick me into telling,” Liam says. “I’m not telling you who it is, so bug off.”

“I wasn’t gonna trick you,” Harry mumbles, but no one’s listening to him anymore.

“Well, then, how are we supposed to help you?” Louis says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I don’t know!” Liam groans. “I don’t want to have a crush!”

“But you do,” Niall says, “and think, Liam, you could have a _girlfriend_. No one in the fifth grade has a girlfriend! You could be the first kid in the fifth grade to have a girlfriend!”

“Or I could be the first kid in the fifth grade to be rejected by a girl,” Liam says.

“Nah,” Louis says. “I heard Robby Jenkins got rejected by Katie Barnett on Wednesday.”

“Good,” Harry sniffs, “she can do better.”

“See?” Niall says. “You’ve got nothing to lose, Li.”

Liam flushes again, glancing over at something, or someone, on the blacktop. Louis tries to follow his gaze, but Liam snaps his eyes back to the ground before Louis can figure out who he’s looking at.

“Just ask her out,” Louis says, accepting a pass from Niall and kicking the ball back to Liam. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Okay, fine,” Liam says. “I’ll ask her out.”

The other three cheer, high fiving each other like they’ve won some sort of game. Liam keeps blushing on and off all throughout recess, especially when the girls come running over to show them what they’ve been drawing with chalk on the blacktop. Louis keeps an eye on Liam, wondering what he’s feeling, why his cheeks go cherry red randomly like it’s something inside of him that’s got him so squirmy and embarrassed. 

Louis’s never had a crush before, he doesn’t think, but he’s so curious to know what it feels like. He doesn’t think he’d like it, if it’s anything like what Liam is going through; Liam looks so uncomfortable, so pained by whatever he keeps thinking about. Louis doesn’t ever want to have to be that ashamed, especially not of liking someone. He thinks that should be special, something to be proud of, to celebrate. But what does he know?

+

They don’t have to wait very long to find out who Liam has been crushing on.

It all happens very fast; they’re sitting at the lunch table, chatting about some commercial Jade saw on television yesterday, and out of the corner of Louis’s eye, Liam pulls a scrap of notebook paper out of his backpack and writes something on it before folding up small. He gets up sharply, gaining the attention of the entire eight-person lunch table, and walks two chairs down, to where Leigh-Anne is sitting on the corner, next to Niall and across from Jesy. He puts the note down in front of her and then walks back to his own chair, sitting down with a horrible scraping sound of his chair against the tile floor.

No one says a word. Leigh-Anne picks up the note, her frown softening as she reads it over, and then she leans down to dig a pen out of her bag where it’s resting at her feet under the table. She makes a quick mark on the note and folds it back up, handing it over to Niall, who hands it to Harry, who hands it to Liam.

Liam opens the note, hands trembling, and after the longest four seconds of Louis’s life, grins the biggest grin Louis’s ever seen on him.

All the boys start cheering immediately, putting two and two together and realizing that Liam and Leigh-Anne have just begun what will surely be a whirlwind, passionate romance from two chairs apart in the Whitfield Middle School cafeteria. The girls huddle around Leigh-Anne immediately, asking what on Earth is going on and why the boys are all cheering, and Liam tucks the note carefully in his shirt pocket.

Just like that, Liam has a girlfriend, and he is automatically the coolest person at the table. 

Lunch ends a few minutes later, and as they all get up from the table to head to their next classes, Leigh-Anne lingers by the corner of the table, waiting for Liam to approach. She grabs onto his hand when he gets close enough, and then the two of them break away from the group, heading for the stairwell with their hands locked between them.

“Young love,” Perrie sighs dramatically, leaning back into Louis’s chest and faux-fainting. “How adorable!”

“I can’t believe _Liam_ is the first one of us to get a girlfriend,” Niall grumbles, hiking his backpack up higher on his shoulders.

“I can absolutely believe that Leigh-Anne is the first one of us to get a boyfriend,” Jade says, voice tinged with melancholy as she looks down at herself, and then toward Jesy, and finally toward Perrie. “She’s so pretty.”

“We’re pretty, too,” Perrie says, linking her arms with Jade and Jesy and skipping out of the cafeteria. Louis smiles watching them, glancing over at Harry to find that Harry is already watching him. 

As they head down the hall toward their next classes, Harry stays firmly at Louis’s side, the back of his hand bumping against the back of Louis’s hand every now again. Louis looks up at him each time it happens, but each time, Harry is staring firmly ahead, not seeming to know or care that his knuckles keep brushing Louis’s, or that Louis is fighting a very strange urge to latch on.

Maybe it’s just that the image of Liam and Leigh-Anne holding hands is so fresh in his memory, so prevalent in his thoughts, but he could swear that he _really_ wants to hold Harry’s hand right now. He doesn’t get the chance, though, because before Louis is ready, his math classroom comes up on his left, and Harry bumps his hand one more time.

“See you on the bus,” Harry says, shooting him a tight smile and then disappearing into the crowd of hurrying fifth graders. 

Louis thinks about it for the rest of the day. He feels weird about it, but he can’t stop imagining it; Harry’s fingers are a little bigger and a little longer than his own, so if they held hands, Harry’s fingers would probably wrap all the way around Louis’s. If they laced their fingers, though, Louis would be able to rub his thumb over the back of Harry’s hand, to feel his veins and bones through his skin, and Harry would still probably be able to cover most of Louis’s hand with his own. He’s never held Harry’s hand, not on purpose, not without the intention of leading him somewhere or pulling him back from something, but now that he’s started imagining it, he feels like he won’t rest until he makes it happen. He feels like an absolute creep just for thinking it, but he can’t imagine anything nicer than the soft flesh of Harry’s palm against the soft flesh of his own.

Louis gets to the bus first, picks a seat near the back, and shoves his earbuds in. He slides down enough that he can rest his knees on the back of the seat in front of him and turns on the loudest music he can find in his iPod, hoping that maybe Harry will just get on the bus and say nothing and he can keep fighting these weird, creepy thoughts in private until he gets all the way home.

They’re still the only two in their friend group on this bus, which is kind of nice, in a way. They’re still best friends, of course, but their other friends have wormed their way into almost every other aspect of their lives, and having the short bus ride to and from school, just the two of them, is a lovely way to bookend their time together.

When Harry gets on the bus, he sits down beside Louis as wordlessly as Louis hoped he would, but, like he can read Louis’s mind, he bumps Louis’s hand with his own several times as he sets about slipping his backpack off and putting it on the floor. Louis figures Harry must want his attention, so he takes out one earbud, looking up at him.

Harry snatches the earbud out of his hand, pressing extra close to Louis’s side so that he can loop the earbud around his head. Louis’s got the right earbud in his right ear, and when Harry puts the left one in his left ear, it forces their heads very close together, until they’re pressed together from head to knee, both sitting curled up on the plush vinyl bus seat.

It’s making Louis’s heart race, inexplicably, to be so close to Harry. The bus pulls away from the curb after a few minutes, and Louis becomes very aware of his left hand, sandwiched between his left thigh and Harry’s right thigh. Harry’s got both his hands resting on his stomach, so Louis pulls his own hand out from between their legs, resting a loose fist on the edge of his own hip and keeping a discrete eye on Harry’s hands.

He waits for the bus to go over the bump at the end of the school driveway, and uses it as an excuse to pretend to jump, reaching out to grab the closest thing, which just so happens to be Harry’s hand, for leverage. Harry doesn’t flinch, seems almost like he was expecting it; he turns his hand over at lightning speed and catches Louis’s hand in his own, jamming both of their hands back down between their thighs, where Louis’s hand was earlier, so that no one can see the way Louis clings to him, fingers slotting together exactly the way Louis pictured they would. 

Louis turns to direct his smile out the window, and Harry doesn’t react visibly at all, but Louis can feel how quick his pulse is, how hard he’s squeezing Louis’s hand, like he’s afraid Louis’s going to let go. They don’t say a word about it, or at all, but they keep their hands laced together for the entirety of the bus ride. When the bus pulls up in front of Harry’s driveway, Harry gets up and walks away like nothing happened at all, but as the bus pulls away again, he shoots Louis a pleased, mischievous grin through the window, like they’ve just pulled off something very sneaky and naughty. 

Louis’s heart races the entire way to his own bus stop, and then for a few hours after that, his hand tingling where Harry’s skin touched his own.

-

Louis wakes up the following morning with what can only be described as an emotional hangover; his head is pounding, his eyes are sore and swollen from crying, and his entire body is aching like he had his muscles tensed up all night long which, he supposes, he probably did. 

He had dream after dream about Harry, about their childhood, about their adulthood, about losing him, finding him, and then losing him again. It’s probably pretty pathetic that one text has the ability to send him into such an all-consuming tailspin, but here he is, still spinning a little bit, even as he pries himself out of bed and heads for the kitchen.

The first thing he does is turn his phone back on. The next thing he does is put the phone into the freezer, because he can’t actually bear to look at it just yet. He goes to the bathroom, brushes his teeth and combs his hair, and then heads back to the kitchen to make himself a tea, and then, only when he’s got two pieces of white bread popped down into the toaster, he takes his chilly phone out of the freezer.

The amount of notifications that pop up all at once make him a little weak in the knees, so he sinks down to the floor, leaning back against the fridge and carefully selecting the first notification. His phone pulls up a text thread with Niall, which was blank before the few texts Niall sent him last night.

Niall: _i’m so sorry_

Niall: _he wouldn’t stop asking_

Niall: _and i thought maybe it’d be kinda nice for you two to talk things out_

Niall: _but i’m so stupid i’m so sorry_

Niall: _i hope you’re not mad at me_

Niall: _i’m so sorry_

Niall: _can i buy you a drink_

Niall: _or like, a car?_

Louis frowns, backing out of the thread and opening up his thread with Perrie, instead, where there’s a new message waiting, too.

Perrie: _So um, I might’ve fucked up…...Niall was still with Harry and Liam when I called him and I didn’t give him a chance to like tell me that before I laid into him so uhh now Harry knows that you’ve seen the text and that we’re pissed about it so uhhhh haha oopsie!!! Call me when you wake up so I know you haven’t killed yourself!!!!_

Louis sighs, letting his head thud back against the fridge once, twice, three times. He backs out of that thread, too, and finds that the last message waiting is from the number he doesn’t have saved, the one that started this whole mess.

???: _I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any emotional stress. Or, well, more emotional stress than I’m sure I’ve already caused you in the past…_  
_I won’t be expecting any kind of reply from you. I’m really, genuinely sorry, and I hope you’re doing okay. In the least sarcastic tone you can imagine, have a nice life, Louis. You deserve better. x Harry_

Louis hates him. He fucking hates him so much, hates the way he texts in paragraphs with perfect grammar, like he’s emailing a fucking lawyer instead of texting the guy into whose chest he’s been slowly twisting a dagger for ten. Fucking. Years.

But— fuck, he can’t believe he’s even thinking this, but he _misses_ Harry so fucking much. He’s been thinking a lot about childhood in the past 48 hours, and for him, there is no childhood to remember that doesn’t include Harry. He’s never known life without Harry; for eighteen years, Harry was the other half of him, always beside him, always the first person Louis thought of when he woke up in the morning, and the last thing he thought of before he fell asleep. It’s hard to break habits like that, impossible, even, or if it is possible, Louis still hasn’t been able to figure it out.

Before the reunion, Louis thought that the last time he’d seen Harry would be the last time he ever saw him, in person at least. Seeing him in the flesh, though, ten entire years later, has thrown him for more of a loop than he ever could’ve imagined. He feels like an addict, and he’s been ten years sober, but the other night, he got a taste of that sweet torture in his veins and now there’s an opening, right here in his trembling hand, to try it again, and at the end of the day, he thinks they all knew that he was never strong enough to resist Harry Styles. After everything they’ve been through, or maybe especially because of everything they’ve been through, he cannot turn him down.

He types out eight different responses, but none of them feel right. After half an hour of typing and deleting and typing and rephrasing and deleting and typing, he closes his eyes and hits send, waiting until he hears the little _swoop_ noise to pry his eyes back open, looking at the little blue bubble at the bottom of the screen.

_Maybe we could get a drink sometime._

It’s hardly the least creative message he’s ever sent, but it gets the point across. Maybe. Maybe they can get a drink. Maybe they can talk. Maybe they can work things out, learn to smile around each other again, figure out a way to not be strangers anymore. Or maybe they can’t. Only time will tell.

He puts his phone back in the freezer and pops his toast down for another few seconds, because by now it’s ice cold and Louis’s not even hungry, but he’s going to force himself to eat anyway. He puts his tea in the microwave and butters his toast and eats it and then he drinks his tea and then he goes to his bedroom to get dressed, folding his pajamas neatly into his dresser, and then gently sits down on his bed, picks up his pillow, and screams into it for approximately fifteen minutes.

When he’s done, he goes back to the freezer to check his phone, finding a single message waiting for him.

???: _Tonight at 8? Pomona’s?_

Louis resists the urge to smash his phone off his face, holding his breath while he types out his reply.

_See you then._

He calls Perrie the second the message is sent, finding himself back on the kitchen floor, but on his back this time, spread eagle and staring up at the ceiling.

“Louis?” Perrie answers on the first ring, despite the fact that it’s 9am; sometimes Louis forgets that Perrie has two small children, and that it’s their summer vacation, and that usually the entire household is up and ready to go at 7am no matter what the day’s activities entail. 

Louis groans long and low into the phone, closing his eyes. “Come over at four. Bring the girls.”

“What?” Perrie asks. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Louis says. “I need you to help turn me into the hottest piece of ass that Harry Styles ever let go of.”

“Louis,” Perrie says, her voice dark. “What did you do?”

Louis laughs loudly, picking his head up just to thunk it back against the tile floor. “I don’t know!” he shouts, still laughing manically, tears building in his eyes.

“You absolute fucking mess,” Perrie says. “Louis—”

“Please help me!” Louis shrieks. “Perrie!”

“Of course I’ll help you, asshat,” Perrie says. “We’ll be there, but I’m instructing the girls that they are not to be happy about it!”

“I love you,” Louis says.

“I love you too, you disaster,” Perrie says, and then she hangs up on him. Louis figures he deserves that much.

-

Louis spends the rest of the morning being anxious and, quite frankly, disastrous, pacing around the apartment and trying to distract himself. He talks himself out of going, and then talks himself back into it, over and over and over until he thinks he might just save himself the trouble and throw himself out the window, but there’s a chance that that won’t fully kill him, and Perrie will have to finish the job when she gets here.

Eventually, he plants himself on the couch with his guitar, his notebook open on the coffee table in front of him. It’s been so long since he’s been able to write a song, especially anything he’s actually proud of, but right now, he’s got so many thoughts inside his head, all of them bumping around, fighting each other for his attention, he needs to get them all out somehow.

Before he knows it, he’s got three pages of his notebook filled to the margins, guitar abandoned on the floor, and someone is ringing his doorbell like they’re trying to choke it to death. He checks his phone for the time, and then rushes to the intercom, holding the button down to silence the noise.

“You’re early,” he says, frowning at the speaker.

“Something tells me we’re gonna need all the time we can get,” Perrie says. “Let us in, we have pizza.”

Louis rolls his eyes, buzzing them in and then returning to the couch. He closes his notebook and stashes it under the couch cushion, replacing his guitar on the stand in the corner, and before he’s ready, Perrie and the girls come storming into the apartment.

“Way to go, stupid!” Nikki says before they’re even all the way in the door, like she can’t wait to say it.

“Nikki, don’t say that word,” Perrie says. “You’re right, but don’t say it.”

“Pizza, please,” Louis says, taking the box from Perrie’s hand and plopping down on the couch again. Perrie sits down in the armchair next to the couch, and the girls crowd right in around Louis, waiting patiently for him to hand them each a slice of pizza.

“Uncle Louis,” Izzy says, once they’re all munching happily. “Who’s Harry?”

Louis looks up at Perrie, but Perrie won’t meet his eyes, staring down at her pizza like it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever seen in her life.

“Um,” Louis says, looking down at his pizza, too. “Harry is someone that I used to love very, very much.”

“Like how you love Mommy?” Izzy asks.

“No,” Louis says, looking over at Perrie again. “More like… more like how Mommy used to love Daddy.”

Izzy and Nikki share a glance, and then no one speaks for a very long minute.

“You don’t love him anymore, though?” Nikki asks.

“Girls,” Perrie says quietly, firmly. “Don’t pry, it’s not polite.”

“It’s not that I don’t love him anymore,” Louis says, staring down at the floor. “Like, I think I will always love him, because for the first 18 years of my life I only knew what it was like to exist next to him, and for the past 10 years I’ve been kinda floundering without him and trying to learn how to live without him, but it’s really hard,” he says softly. 

No one says anything for another few minutes. Perrie is as still as a statue, determinedly not meeting Louis’s eyes.

“Izzy,” Louis says, glancing down at the wide-eyed six-year-old beside him, “can you imagine if Nikki randomly decided one day that she never wanted to talk to you again, and that she wanted to find someone else to be her sister? Someone that was completely different from you in every sense? If she spent her whole life growing up with you, next to you, loving you, and then she all of a sudden just decided to change her life completely, walking away from every direction the two of you were planning to go?” he asks.

Izzy’s eyes fill up with tears, and she looks across Louis’s lap at Nikki, who also looks appropriately horrified. “I would never do that,” Nikki says firmly.

“Good,” Louis says, reaching down to squeeze each of their hands. “I hope nothing like that ever happens to you.”

“Harry did that to you?” Izzy asks.

“Yeah,” Louis mumbles. “He decided he didn’t love me the same way I loved him, and that he cared less about me than he did about himself, and he left me forever,” he says. “But it’s been a very long time since I’ve seen him, and he’s finally decided he wants to see me again.”

“But why do you want to see _him_?” Nikki asks, nose scrunched up. 

“Well,” Louis sighs, “I don’t really know.”

“Because,” Perrie finally pipes up, “Harry is a very rotten person, and he knows that, but he doesn’t want to believe it, so he thinks that seeing Uncle Louis again will fix what he did to him. But tell me, girls, do you think it’s going to fix anything?” Perrie says, eyes finally locked on Louis now that Louis can’t bring himself to look up at her anymore.

“I don’t think it’ll fix anything,” Nikki says, “unless Harry decides he loves Uncle Louis again.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Louis says quickly. “And I don’t want that to happen. I’m not going to let him trick me into anything again.”

“Again?” Nikki says curiously. 

“Y’know what, girls,” Louis says, laughing awkwardly, “I don’t know if we need to be having this conversation right now.”

“All you need to know,” Perrie says, “is that Uncle Louis is a very sweet, caring, good hearted person, and anyone who could decide they don’t love him to bits probably doesn’t have a heart in them in the first place.”

Louis smiles sadly, dropping his eyes. He wants to believe that that’s true, that Harry’s a heartless, soulless, evil person, but he knows that he’ll never be able to believe that. He knows that Harry has a heart, because he’s seen it, he’s lived in it, made a home in it, and that’s what makes this so much harder. He still doesn’t know why exactly he was evicted, and he probably never will, but he’ll never stop wondering about it. Maybe he can use tonight as an excuse to corner Harry, grill him about the whole thing, and finally find out where it all went wrong. That’s the thing that’s had him fucked up for all this time, isn’t it? Louis has never even been able to figure out what happened, what he did that drove Harry away so quickly and permanently. He had given up hope years ago that Harry would ever come back into his life, but now, here he is. What’s Louis going to do with this one, precious chance?

-

It’s a good thing Perrie came over so early, because they spend _hours_ , the four of them, digging through Louis’s closet to find the absolute best outfit he owns. All of his hard work from the other day is decimated, and his room is a disaster again within minutes, and Louis hasn’t been clothes shopping in over a year and nothing fits him quite right and Louis’s just about to break down and beg the girls to take him to the mall when finally, by some miracle, Izzy comes crawling out of the very back of Louis’s closet with a light wash denim jacket that Louis forgot he even had draped over her shoulders, yelling about having found treasure.

It is, as it turns out, treasure. Within minutes of the find, Perrie has pulled together the perfect outfit, and then she ushers the girls out of the room and closes the door behind herself to let Louis try it on.

It’s simple, but it’s perfect. A pair of worn, but still tight black jeans, a white t-shirt with a black Vans logo in the center, and the denim jacket that Izzy dug out, the sleeves rolled just below his elbows, to show off all of his tattoos. As soon as he’s dressed, he struts out to the living room, walking the hallway like a runway.

The girls cheer, and Perrie pretends to faint, and for just a few minutes, Louis isn’t quite so nervous anymore. Whatever happens, he’s still going to be Louis, and Perrie is still going to be his best friend, and the girls are always going to be his favorite people under the age of ten that have ever existed. 

Once Louis has been primped and perfected, Perrie forces the last two slices of pizza down his throat, because “I will not let you get drunk with Harry Styles tonight, Louis, I will _not_ ,” and then, just after 7:00, Louis begins the process of kicking them out so that he can finish mentally preparing in peace for what’s about to happen.

He almost makes it, too, until Izzy takes a running jump into his arms on their way out the door, and nuzzles close to Louis’s ear.

“If Harry never loves you again,” Izzy whispers, her breath hot and inexplicably sticky against Louis’s neck, “it’s okay, because I’ll love you forever and ever, Uncle Louis.”

Something inside Louis snaps, just like that, and he presses his face into Izzy’s tiny shoulder, sobbing once.

“Isabella!” Perrie growls, sounding mortified. “What did you do!”

“I love you, Izzy,” Louis says, holding her for a second longer before lowering her gently onto her feet. She’s got teary eyes, too, when she looks up at him, but it’s probably mostly from the shock of seeing an adult cry. “I’ll love you forever and ever, too.”

Izzy grins and hugs him once more, pressing a kiss to his tear stained cheek and then running off out the door. Perrie hesitates, like she isn’t sure if she should be responsible for putting Louis back together right now, but Louis just hugs her one more time, too, and then waves them off down the hallway. 

He spends the last half hour of his free time getting himself in check, squeezing out his last few tears and then vowing to put his emotions away in a locked box for the rest of the evening. He feels like he’s going to be sick by the time he has to leave, but he will not, he will _not_ be sick over Harry Styles. Not again, anyway. 

He spends about ten minutes standing by the front door of his apartment, keys in his hand, shoes tied and wallet in his pocket, staring into the middle distance. He can’t go, there’s no way he can do this. He can’t believe he thought he could do this. Fuck it, he thinks, Harry Styles can sit in that bar all night long, if he wants to, Louis is not showing up.

But then again, he figures, he’d be doing to Harry exactly what Harry did to him 10 years ago. It’s almost appealing enough to make Louis kick off his shoes, but at the end of the day, he can’t stomach the idea of standing someone up, even Harry. 

He takes a deep breath, holds it, and opens his front door, steps through the opening, and locks it behind himself. There’s no turning back now.

+

For the last quarter of fifth grade, students are given the opportunity to try out every elective that Whitfield Middle School has to offer, and by the end of the year, they’re supposed to have found the elective that they’ll be joining once they enter the sixth grade. It’s an exciting few weeks, a nice way to shake up the same old schedule that they’ve been stuck in since September, and a really good excuse to spend time goofing off with one’s friends.

They get a week of each of the six different electives to choose from: sports, drama, chorus, woodshop, home ec, and computers. It’s the best six weeks of the fifth grade, by anyone’s standards, and by the time registration comes around at the end of May, most of their little friend group knows exactly which elective they’ll be picking up next year.

Liam and Leigh-Anne, suddenly the token couple of the class of 2009, are both taking home ec, because Leigh-Anne wants to learn how to sew, and Liam wants to be a feminist, or something. Niall’s doing chorus, because he’s already in the marching band, too, which is an outside club, and he wants to be a fully rounded musician by the time he graduates 8th grade. Jesy, Jade and Perrie are all joining drama, mostly so that they’ll have an in with the after-school drama club; Jade has a dream of being the designated makeup and costume artist, Jesy wants to participate in as many musicals as she can, and Perrie just loves the idea of all the attention being on a stage would grant her.

Before the six weeks of electives began, Louis and Harry made a pact to choose the same elective, because that seems like something best friends should do, right? It would guarantee them at least one class together, and that seems like the most important thing to either of them right now. Louis’s heard that sixth grade is a very busy period of one’s life and, more than anything, he’s just worried he’s going to be missing out on precious Harry Time. 

“So,” Louis says, plopping his lunchbox down on the lunch table and sitting down in the chair across from Harry. “Registration is next week.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, picking up his school-bought bagel pizza and nibbling at the edge. 

“Have you thought about which elective you want to pick?” Louis asks, but it’s really more of a formality than anything; he’s absolutely sure that they both want to do drama. The drama week was the most fun by _miles_ , and Louis knows Harry enjoyed himself just as much as Louis did.

“Um,” Harry says, staring down at his bagel pizza for a moment. “I think I wanna do chorus.”

“Yeah! Me too—” Louis starts, but he frowns when Harry’s words register in his head. _Chorus_? “Chorus?” he says, cocking his head at Harry.

“It was really fun,” Harry shrugs. “I was thinking we should do that, y’know, because it sounds easy and we get to sing, and stuff.”

“That’s so lame,” Louis says, without thinking. Hurt flashes across Harry’s face, but it’s gone just as quickly as it came. “I mean, c’mon, no one goes to the chorus concerts! We should do drama, for sure. _Everyone_ comes to the plays, and think about how much fun it’ll be!”

“Drama? Really?” Harry says. “I don’t know…”

“Harry, c’mon, we have to do drama,” Louis says. “Everyone’s doing drama!”

“No,” Harry says. “Niall’s doing chorus, and Liam and Leigh-Anne are doing home ec.”

“Yeah, but, everyone else,” Louis says. “It’ll be so fun,” he whines, “please?”

“I really want to do chorus, Lou,” Harry says quietly, like he’s afraid of disappointing Louis. Louis, as it turns out, is thoroughly disappointed.

“You can sing in drama, too, y’know!” Louis says. “They put on a musical and a regular play every year, so, like, it’s essentially the same thing.”

“I don’t want to do acting, though,” Harry says, scrunching up his nose. “Why can’t we do chorus, and you can join the after-school drama club?”

“No one joins the after-school club if they’re not in drama class, Harry,” Louis says. “It’s, like, a rule.”

“Is it?” Harry frowns.

“Well, not officially, maybe, but still, no one does it,” Louis says.

“I don’t know,” Harry says, looking down. “I’d prefer to sing in the chorus.”

“Fine, then,” Louis says, trying not to be annoyed. “I’m doing drama, though.”

Harry looks up quickly, hurt settling in his eyes this time. “You’d do it without me?”

“Well, I’m not doing chorus, so,” he shrugs. “It’s not like we _have_ to do the same thing, anyway.”

“Yes, we do have to do the same thing!” Harry argues. “We’ve always done the same thing, we’re best friends, it’s what we do!”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not doing chorus.”

Harry looks like he’s going to cry, dropping his bagel pizza onto his tray and fleeing the table. Louis feels like part of him just got up and went with him, the part of him that had any sort of an appetite, apparently, because by the time everyone else makes it over to the table, he hasn’t even unzipped his lunchbox.

“Where’s Harry?” Niall asks, sitting down in the seat next to Harry’s empty chair. 

“Bathroom, I think,” Louis says, but his voice sounds hollow. Perrie sits down next to Louis, and the rest of the table fills in slowly, but Harry never comes back for his bagel pizza. 

They’ve never fought before, Louis and Harry, in all the years they’ve been friends. They’ve disagreed about things, sure, argued about what movie to watch or which Power Ranger is cooler, but they’ve never fought to the extent that Harry runs off, or that Louis spends an entire lunch period staring at the clock, waiting for him to come back. 

When lunch ends, Harry’s tray of food is still abandoned, so Louis picks it up and clears it for him. His stomach growls all the way through his next class, lamenting the neglect of his turkey and cheese sandwich, but he can hardly think about anything except Harry, how upset he looked when he decided he couldn’t even sit at the same table as Louis for another second. He doesn’t see Harry again for the rest of the day, which is typical for the way their schedules work out, but at the end of the day, when Louis picks out a seat on the bus and waits for Harry to join him so they can talk about this, Harry doesn’t show. Louis waits until the bus starts moving to sit up, panicked, searching for Harry in the sea of heads, and his heart sinks when he spots Harry’s curly head three seats in front of him, staring determinedly out the window. 

There’s no way Harry didn’t see him, and there’s no way Harry wouldn’t also be looking around like a lonesome toddler in the supermarket if he thought Louis might have missed the bus. Harry didn’t sit with him intentionally, because Louis hurt his feelings, and now he’s going to ignore Louis until Louis gives him what he wants.

Well, Louis thinks, two can play at that game. He sinks back down in his seat and does his very, very best not to cry for the rest of the bus ride home, and when the bus stops outside of Harry’s house, Louis looks down, and doesn’t wait for Harry to wave like he usually does. He doesn’t look to see if Harry even looks up at him as the bus drives away, so he definitely doesn’t see the tears streaming down Harry’s cheeks as he trudges up his driveway.

+

Harry doesn’t talk to him for the entire week leading up to registration. It’s the longest week of Louis’s life.

Louis thinks a few times about caving, about signing up for chorus and seeing if he can join the after-school drama club as an outsider, even though he’s pretty sure no one’s ever done it. At the end of the day, though, Harry is acting like a baby, and Louis is not going to cater to it. So what if they do different things? So what if they have slightly different interests? Louis’s willing to put it all behind them if Harry is, but first Harry’s got to stop running from him in the hallways, missing the bus so that his mom has to drive him to school, and eating lunch in the library.

They have the same registration slot, since their names are so close to each other in the alphabet. Registration goes on all day long on Monday, and everyone meets with one of the five guidance counselors for fifteen minutes to get their schedules for next year all squared away. Louis’s slot isn’t until 2:15, one of the last slots of the day, and he’s only a few kids away from Harry in the line, watching Harry’s leg jiggle anxiously as he waits to speak with one of the counselors in the cafeteria.

The actual registration process isn’t very complicated at all; the counselor asks him how this year went, how he liked his classes, if he thought anything was too hard or too easy, and which elective he’d like to be placed into next year. He tells her that everything was good, his classes were boring but he learned a lot, and he would like to take drama class, please.

As he gets up to walk away from the table, he sees Harry a few tables down, finishing up his own session. Louis slows down a little so that when Harry gets up, they’ll be forced to walk together back to where the teachers are handing out hall passes to go back to class, and maybe they can finally talk about this. Harry gets up at just the right time, steps on Louis a little bit as he backs away from the table and then, upon seeing who he just stepped on, bursts into tears.

“I’m sorry,” Harry sobs, hunching forward to slam his face against Louis’s chest. Louis holds him awkwardly, shocked by the outburst. “I picked chorus. I was going to pick drama to be with you, I really was, but then she asked and I said chorus and now we won’t see each other at all next year and—”

“Harry,” Louis says, petting soothingly at his back. “Dude, it’s fine. Listen, I’m not mad, okay? And you shouldn’t be upset, either. We both picked different things, right? We both decided to take different classes. We’re still best friends, you know? We’ll still see each other on the bus, and at lunch, and we might even have another class together, you never know,” he says.

“Really?” Harry sniffles, looking up at him. “We’re still best friends?”

“Of course we’re still best friends,” Louis grins. “We had a fight, that doesn’t mean we aren’t friends anymore. Nothing’s ever gonna make me stop being your best friend, Harry, nothing in the whole world,” he says.

Harry smiles, wiping the tears away from his cheeks and nodding once. “Will you come to my chorus concerts?” he asks shyly.

“Every single one of them,” Louis says. “Will you come to my plays?”

“Obviously,” Harry says. “Maybe this will be kinda fun.”

“Of course it’ll be fun,” Louis says, accepting his hall pass from the teacher at the door to the cafeteria happily. “Hey, wanna come over after school today and practice our singing and acting?”

“I’ll have to ask my mom,” Harry says, but he’s already beaming.

“Cool,” Louis says, and when they part ways at the end of the hallway to go back to their separate classes, it doesn’t even feel like the end of the world.

-

Louis would like to say that walking into Pomona’s is like a blast from the past, like all the memories come rushing back at once, but that’s not true. He and Perrie still come here all the time, when they’re really desperate for a night out but they can’t go too far from home. There’s still a stage for live music at the back, and Louis still plays on it sometimes when he manages to put together a halfway decent set list, and all the best memories he has of this place have been long buried by the more recent ones.

He doesn’t see Harry anywhere, which means that Harry’s even later than he is, which is fine. He doesn’t want to get a table, because he doesn’t know if Harry will want to get a table, so he just finds a seat at the bar and sits down. He doesn’t even really know what Harry’s intentions are for tonight, if they’re just going to have a shallow, awkward catching up, or if they’re going to finally talk about everything that’s happened since high school. Louis doesn’t know which conversation he’s dreading more.

He orders a rum and Coke, puts a straw in it, and then stares at it until finally, only about five minutes later, someone touches his shoulder.

“Hey,” Harry says, leaning close so that Louis can hear him over the steady ruckus of the bar. “Wanna grab a table?”

That settles that, then. Louis slides off his stool and follows Harry through the bar, sitting down at the table Harry picks out and putting his untouched drink down in front of himself, letting it remain untouched while Harry gets settled across from him. 

Louis could definitely have a crisis right now. He could definitely freak out about the fact that Harry is, well, Harry, and that he’s sitting right there, at the same table as Louis, and that Louis is the sole object of his attention for the first time since probably middle school. He decides not to, though, and instead he just looks at Harry’s nervous smile, and his eyes, which are the same eyes that Louis’s looked at since he was born, the same eyes he fell in love with a long time ago, and the same eyes he never actually fell out of love with.

That thought probably isn’t a new development to him, but it definitely is an inconvenient thought to be having right now, when he’s so determined to not let Harry get under his skin tonight. Harry’s eyes have always been one of Louis’s favorite parts of him, and right now they’re locked on him, like Harry’s afraid that if he looks away, Louis will evaporate. Louis knows the feeling well.

“So,” Harry says, leaning his elbows on the table, still watching Louis closely. He’s got this anxious, awkward smile on his face, and he swallows hard before he speaks again. “Um. How have you been?”

This fucking sucks. This actually fucking blows, Louis thinks, and he already regrets coming here tonight, already wants to just go home and continue being a loser in peace.

At the same time, though, Harry’s nervous twitching and lopsided smile because he’s chewing the inside of his lip and the way he keeps blinking every two seconds like his eyes are gonna dry out from how hard he’s staring Louis down… It’s all so very, well, _Harry_ , in a way Louis wasn’t expecting. He’s sort of been building Harry up in his head the past ten years, equating him with the way the media has always portrayed him. He thought Harry would be aloof, reserved, mysterious, the way he always is whenever Louis is forced to see him in an interview or something somewhere, but he’s not like that at all, now, and Louis is a little caught off guard. He feels a little bad for assuming Harry would be an entirely different person now, but then he catches himself feeling bad and pinches himself for it under the table, because they’re _two minutes in_ and he promised Perrie he wouldn’t let himself get tricked tonight.

“Uh,” Louis says, bobbing his head sideways in an awkward nod. “Alright, I guess.”

“What have you been up to?” Harry asks. “Y’know, like, since high school?”

 _Fucking losing at everything_ , Louis thinks, but outwardly, he smiles tightly. This is Harry, after all, and Louis shouldn’t have to pretend around him. “Honestly,” he says, “not much. I tried to go to college after— well, y’know, but it wasn’t for me. I dropped out before the first semester ended,” he says.

“Why’d you drop out?” Harry frowns, shoulders sinking a little. 

“Mostly because Perrie was dropping out,” Louis says. “I never really felt like it was right for me, anyway, but then when Perrie decided to drop, I figured, hey, y’know, at least I won’t be the only college dropout in town,” he laughs awkwardly.

“Why did Perrie drop out?” Harry asks, like it’s an interrogation, or something.

“She got pregnant in, like, November of freshman year, and then freaked out, dropped out of school, and married the guy who did it to her. So, I dropped out and tried to do the music thing full-time, and every time Mom tried to say anything to me, I was just like, ‘hey, Mom, at least I didn’t get pregnant,’” he jokes.

Harry smiles, finally, the first genuine smile Louis’s seen on him in—well, years. 

“Perrie had a kid?” Harry asks, voice a little softer.

“Yeah, two girls,” Louis says, grinning at the thought of them. “Nikki and Izzy. I love them to death,” he says.

“Is Perrie still with her husband, then?” Harry asks.

“No,” Louis sighs. “They split up a few years ago. It was pretty messy,” he says.

Harry nods knowingly, and Louis frowns, but Harry catches himself quickly. “Divorce usually is,” he says. Louis feels it like a knife to the gut, remembering that Harry’s divorced, too, but Harry doesn’t give him a chance to ask about it. “I bet Perrie’s an incredible mom,” he says. “She was always taking care of us, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah, she’s the best there is,” Louis says. “She’s the best person I’ve ever known.”

Harry’s smile turns a little sour, and Louis looks down. It’s quiet for a terrible, awful moment, and then Harry says, “So, you said you were trying the music thing?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, picking up his drink and chewing at the straw just for something to do. “I mean, you should know I always wanted to do the music thing, in high school,” he says. Harry flushes, but Louis pretends not to notice. “Then when I dropped out, I recorded a few demos and tried to sell them. I’ve sold a few over the years, even had a couple of my songs place on the charts over the years, but I’ve never really been able to make it on my own. Still, though, I just can’t give up. I have no idea what else to do other than music at this point,” he admits.

“That’s rough,” Harry says, and then a waitress comes over to get him a drink, giving Louis a moment alone with his thoughts. He almost expects Harry to offer him something, like a gig, or some kind of deal, if only to make a little bit of peace. When Harry tunes back in, though, he clearly has no intention of doing anything like that. Louis’s both relieved and a little bit annoyed; he’d say no, obviously, if Harry tried to offer him something, but still, the empty gesture would be kinda nice.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” Harry says after a few minutes, leaning back in his chair.

“What’s weird?” Louis says.

“The fact that I have no idea what to say to you right now,” Harry says, and Louis knows what he means, really, he does, but it still rubs him completely the wrong way.

“I can think of a couple things you could say to me,” he says without thinking, and Harry’s face falls at about the same speed as his own heart.

“What?” Harry squeaks.

“How about ‘I’m sorry’? How about ‘I feel like an asshole for what I did to you’? Or can you not say those things because they aren’t true?” Louis says, voice suddenly filled with unexpected venom. He really didn’t plan on yelling at Harry this early on in the evening, but now that he’s started, it feels right, and he kinda likes the horrified look on Harry’s face.

“Y’know,” Louis continues. “For a second, there, I thought maybe you hadn’t changed.”

“I haven’t,” Harry says, voice so strangled it barely comes out.

“Don’t make me fucking laugh,” Louis says.

“Louis,” Harry says, rubbing at his face a little. “I… look, I know I owe you an explanation, okay? And I promise I have one. Just— please, don’t chew me out before you give me a chance to explain everything,” he says.

“Go ahead and explain, then,” Louis says, crossing his arms over his chest. They’re both silent as the waitress returns, dropping off Harry’s drink and scurrying away immediately, like she can sense the tension in the air, doesn’t even need to ask if they want to order any food because she already knows the answer. “Go on,” Louis says again, once she’s gone. 

“Right here?” Harry asks. “Right now?”

“Right here, right now,” Louis says. “When else?”

“Well, I—” Harry fidgets, looking around. “I was kind of hoping we could meet again, y’know, after this,” he admits.

And that, _that_ throws Louis off his game. “What?”

“You’re my best friend, Louis,” Harry says, barely above a whisper. Even if he was yelling, Louis wouldn’t be able to believe his ears. “And I know it’s been a while, but you’re still the person I consider my best friend,” Harry says.

Louis blinks, and then blinks again. “I honestly cannot say the same, Harry,” he says.

“I know,” Harry says, rubbing at his face again like he’s trying to distract himself. Louis knows him so well, well enough to know that Harry’s trying not to cry right now, and he can’t believe that this is where the evening has taken them. “I know you think I’m a complete dickhead. I’ve wanted to reach out to you so many times, Louis, but I didn’t know how, because I knew it was gonna go like this. I knew you were gonna be pissed at me, and you have every right to be, but, please, just know that I never forgot about you. There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by in the past ten years that I haven’t thought about you,” he says.

“Bullshit,” Louis spits. “Bull. Shit.”

“Fuck,” Harry breathes. “I wasn’t gonna tell you this because I didn’t know how you’d react, but I was at your mom’s funeral, Louis. I hid because I didn’t want to make it about me, but I was there,” he says. Louis feels like the breath has been punched out of him, and he blinks again, mind racing. “I would’ve gone to Fizzy’s funeral, too, but I didn’t find out until days after. I felt so fucking awful, and I sent so many flowers to her, and to you,” he says softly.

Louis feels a breath away from shattering, suddenly, remembering the bouquets of flowers that showed up at his door for weeks after his sister’s funeral. “That was you?” he asks, voice breaking.

“Yeah,” Harry says, hanging his head for a second. “I never wanted to take credit for it, because I never wanted it to be about me, but please, Louis, can’t you see I haven’t ever stopped thinking about you and your family?” he says.

“What else did you do?” Louis asks, mind racing. His eyes are wet, and his head feels full of static. “What else have you done that you weren’t going to take credit for?”

“Um,” Harry says, eyes widening. 

“Tell me,” Louis growls, “or I’ll walk out right now.”

“Okay, okay,” Harry says quickly. “Um, well, I bought a couple of your demos over the years, through my label, and gave them to other artists for you,” he says. 

Louis groans, scrubbing his hands down his face. “You’re the one that got my songs on the radio?” he asks, devastated.

“Yeah,” Harry says, looking impossibly guilty. 

“What else?” Louis demands, trying to think of other shady things that have happened over the years. “You… did you tell Perrie that her husband was cheating on her?”

Harry goes scarlet, nodding at the table.

“What the fuck!” Louis all but yells, digging his nails into his own thigh. “How did you even— nevermind, tell me more,” he says.

Harry looks so upset, screwing his eyes shut and turning his face away from Louis. “Um,” he breathes, “I donated some money to the fundraiser that Lottie started for Fizzy, and I got some of my fashion friends to look at the clothes Phoebe and Daisy designed last summer, but they’ve yet to say anything about it to me. Uh, I bought a bunch of tickets for the show you did a couple months ago in Hartford and sold them for less than face value to give you the revenue and get more people in the door,” he says, talking quickly like he’s trying to rattle them all off and get them off his chest.

Louis regrets asking, can’t bear to hear another word out of Harry’s mouth. He stands up so fast he almost knocks his chair over, not sparing Harry even one more glance as he all but runs from the table.

“Wait!” Harry calls, getting up to chase after him. He catches Louis by the wrist, and Louis whirls around, glaring at him. “This is why I didn’t fucking tell you,” Harry says through clenched teeth. 

Louis shoves him, successfully breaking out of Harry’s grip. “Leave me alone,” he spits. “Just— get out of my life. You wanted so badly to get out of my life, just fucking _get out_!”

Harry looks more hurt than Louis’s ever seen him, eyes full of tears, right there in the middle of Pomona’s. Louis’s gonna do something stupid, like cry, and he can’t be here another minute.

He storms all the way out the door, all the way to his car, and then races home. He’s never been so fucking mad in his entire life, never felt so pathetic and useless and horrible about himself. Harry didn’t just leave him high and dry, no, he lingered in his life, making good things happen just to give Louis a taste of happiness before he yanked it away again. Here Louis thought it was the universe showing him kindness, throwing him a bone every now and again, but no, _no_ , it was fucking _Harry_ , Harry and his stupid fame and his stupid money and his stupid fucking eyes and Louis hates him, he _hates_ him, he’s never hated anyone so fucking much— 

He tears his jacket off and hurls it across the living room, a bit of the tension easing out of his body when it takes out the lamp standing next to the couch. He goes for his shoes, next, taking them both off and humming them at the wall, addicted to the way they crash to the floor. He turns around and grabs the ceramic catch-all bowl full of keys and chapstick and whatever else he digs out of his pockets at the end of the day and hurls that against the opposite wall, tears welling up in his eyes as he listens to it shatter.

He spends the next half hour or so completely trashing his apartment, tearing the cushions off the couch and beating the hell out of the doorway to the kitchen. He’s completely fucking sober, too, which is probably making this so much more painful than it could be, so once he’s done breaking everything worth breaking, he stumbles to the kitchen, upending a bottle of tequila right into his mouth. It burns like fucking acid going down, but at least it gives a physical sensation to the way his chest is aching, so he drinks again, and again, until he’s sucked down half the bottle and he’s choking on the aftertaste. 

Remarkably, he doesn’t start crying until he’s made it to his bedroom, which isn’t quite as trashed as the living room, but is still quite a disaster from Perrie’s visit earlier. Fucking hell, he thinks, he should’ve listened to her, should have never responded to Harry’s text in the first place, should have just fucking blocked his number and been done with it.

He falls asleep like that before long, with the mostly empty tequila bottle in his hand, still fully dressed, on top of his covers. His phone buzzes in his pocket a couple times throughout the night, but he doesn’t even feel it, probably wouldn’t care even if he did.


	2. Chapter 2

Two weeks before the first day of high school, Perrie gets a job. She’s the first one out of the friend group with a real job, and suddenly, she seems like a real adult. She’s working at the coffee shop in the town center, which is absolutely the best thing that’s ever happened to any of them. They crowd into the coffee shop during every shift Perrie works, buying fancy drinks with their parents’ money and annoying every customer and employee in the shop, including Perrie, probably. If she doesn’t want them there, though, she never lets on, sneaking them free drinks every now and again and giving them her employee discount when her manager isn’t looking.

It’s around this time that their friend group gains a ninth member, unarguably the coolest member, if not the coolest person any of them have ever met. His name is Zayn, and he works at the coffee shop with Perrie; they’re all pretty sure Perrie’s in love with him, but then again, which of them isn’t in love with him?

Zayn rides a motorcycle to work, even though he’s only a year older than them, and leaves it parked outside on the curb during every shift. It must be quite funny to watch them all from the outside as Zayn rolls up for work, boys and girls alike fixing their hair and clothes, making sure they’re presentable to face the godliness of someone like Zayn Malik.

The coolest thing about Zayn (which is saying a _lot_ , because there are a _lot_ of cool things about him) is that he plays the drums in a band, like, a real live rock band at his high school in Holcomb, the next town over. 

Every new fact Louis learns about Zayn makes him a little bit more sure that he’s gay, but that’s something to explore at some other time.

The idea to start their own band comes up at some point while they’re in Perrie’s coffee shop, drinking overpriced, more-milk-than-anything iced lattes, pretending to finish their summer reading before school starts next week. Louis perks up a little from where he’s been staring at Zayn over the top of his upside-down book and looks around the table, catching Niall’s eye first.

“Guys,” he says, putting his book down. “We should start a band.”

“A band?” Niall says, lighting up instantly. “Cool!”

“Like, a rock band?” Harry asks, nudging Louis’s shoulder. “Like Zayn’s band?”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

“I wanna play drums,” Liam says immediately, looking over at Zayn behind the counter. “Do you think Zayn will teach me how to play drums?”

“Close your mouth, sweetheart, you’re drooling,” Leigh-Anne says, rolling her eyes and poking at Liam’s jaw.

“I don’t want to be in a band,” Jade sniffs, adjusting the bracelets on her arm. “I’m a one-woman show.”

“A one-woman shitshow,” Jesy says. “I’m out, too. Dance starts back up next week, so I won’t really have any free time.”

“Looks like it’s just the guys, then,” Louis says, bumping Harry’s shoulder and grinning at Niall and Liam. 

“What’s our band called?” Niall asks, propping his elbows on the table.

“Maybe, like, something symbolic,” Harry says. “Like, something meaningful.”

“Like what?” Liam asks.

“Oh, call yourselves The Iced Lattes!” Jade says, holding up her drink as if she’s making a toast. Everyone blinks at her, and promptly pretends they didn’t hear her. 

“What about, like, LLNH?” Jesy says. “Kinda cool, kinda cryptic, but also really simple.”

“What’s that?” Liam frowns.

“Our initials, dumbass,” Louis says.

“Why am I last?” Harry squawks.

“I think we need something catchier,” Louis says, frowning down at the table. 

“How about One Direction?” Harry says. “Y’know, ‘cause like, we’re all so different, but we’re all headed in the same direction, right?”

Everyone pauses, thinking it over for a moment. “We can always figure it out later,” Louis says. 

“Yeah, let’s figure it out later,” Niall says.

+

By the first day of school, they’ve assembled their ragtag little band, and they’ve had two disastrous rehearsals in Liam’s garage. They don’t really know what they’re doing, and nobody actually knows how to play the instruments they’ve picked, but all that aside, they’re having a great time.

School itself is looking promising, as well; they’re allowed two electives now that they’re in ninth grade, and if the fight Louis and Harry had in fifth grade wasn’t already settled, it definitely is now. All eight of them signed up for drama and chorus, which properly qualifies them as the most obnoxious eight people in the entire school, and none of them could care less. 

It’s nice finally being in chorus with Harry, seeing him in his element, and in turn, he thinks Harry’s really enjoying drama, as well. Louis might wish that he didn’t oppose chorus so vehemently back in fifth grade and Harry might be taking more of an interest in drama than anyone ever expected, but, they don’t need to talk about that.

They have band practice in Liam’s garage every day after school for about a week before they decide that they completely, absolutely, totally suck. 

“Liam,” Louis barks, “the point of drumming is to keep a beat, not to see how loud you can hit the fucking snare.”

“Point to the snare, Louis,” Liam challenges. “Just point to it.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “You point to it!” he says. They both stare blankly at the drum kit for a moment, and then Louis turns on Niall. “I swear your guitar is out of tune.”

“I swear your _head_ is out of tune,” Niall says. “I’m the only one here who actually knows how to play the instrument in his hands, so don’t come at me.”

“I play the fucking piano!” Louis argues, slapping at the keys of his keyboard as if to prove his point.

“You took, like, two months of lessons when you were eight,” Harry pipes in quietly.

“Shut up,” Louis says. “I don’t wanna hear a peep out of you, Mr. Lead Singer.”

Harry frowns as if he’s about to call him out on the inconsistency of his statement, but Louis cuts him off before he can, turning back to Liam.

“Count us off, Li,” he says, placing his hands over the keyboard gingerly. “We’re going from the top.”

Liam grumbles something under his breath and smacks his drumsticks together four times, and then the four of them unleash the ugliest combination of noises Louis’s ever heard in his life. 

“Stop, stop, stop!” he shouts, rubbing at his face as he turns around again. “Alright, okay. We suck.”

“You suck,” Niall mutters, hammering out a funky little riff on his guitar as if to prove that he does not, in fact, suck.

“What are we gonna do?” Harry asks, resting his chin on top of the microphone stand. He puts a little too much weight on it, and it buckles a little, sliding down quickly and almost taking Harry with it.

“I think we need, like, professional help,” Louis admits.

“Like Zayn?” Liam asks, perking up quickly.

“Let’s call Zayn!” Niall agrees immediately.

“No, not Zayn,” Louis says. “You guys want him to see this fuckshow?”

Liam blinks, and Niall looks down. “No,” they say in unison.

“Maybe the marching band teacher could help us?” Niall says. 

“Here’s what we’ll do,” Louis says, gaining the attention of the others quickly. “We’ll take a week to learn a whole song on our own, and then when we come together, we’ll each know our part.”

“Which song?” Harry asks.

“Forever Young, the Alphaville version,” Niall says. “It was the first song I learned on guitar, it’s super easy.”

“There we go,” Louis says. “Sounds simple enough.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon making a horrendous racket from different corners of the garage, and when Louis goes home that evening, he spends the entire night learning the piano version of the song Niall picked out. The four of them hardly speak for the rest of the week, practicing whenever they can, and when they come back together on Saturday morning in Liam’s garage, it all comes together.

It takes a bit of coordination and a few passive-aggressively loud drum hits from Liam, but once it clicks, it _clicks_. Niall and Louis balance each other beautifully on the guitar and keys, Liam keeps the beat steady and rocking, and Harry, _Harry_ , knocks it out of the fucking park. 

They’re quiet for a minute when they finish their first full run through, looking at each other with eyes wide as dinner plates. Then, Niall says, “ _Fuck yeah_.”

They’re hardly the best band in the world, but Louis would go as far to say that the Beatles probably didn’t sound _that_ good on their first ever practice either.

“Guys,” Liam says, beaming at them from over the top of his drum set. “Guys, y’know that talent show at the end of every school year? The one they do on the football field?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Gemma and her friends danced in it when they were sophomores.”

“We should totally enter,” Liam says. 

“A talent show?” Louis says. “Really?”

“Yeah!” Liam says. “C’mon, it’d be so cool!”

“But we’re freshmen,” Harry says, voice low.

“So?” Liam says.

“Can freshmen even enter?” Niall asks.

“Of course we can, it’s for the whole high school,” Liam says. “What are you, scared?”

“No,” Louis says immediately, stepping toward the center of their little make-shift stage of an old tarp spread out on the garage floor. “I’m not scared.”

“Me either,” Niall says, stepping up beside him.

“Um, I’m a little bit scared,” Harry says.

Louis rolls his eyes, reaching out to grab Harry by the wrist to drag him in, too. Liam scurries around the drum set to join them, and then they all look at Harry.

“We’ve got to be fearless,” Louis says, watching Harry’s eyes. 

“Fearless,” Niall says, putting his hand in the center of the circle.

“Fearless,” Liam agrees, slapping his hand down on top of Niall’s.

“Fearless,” Louis grins, adding his hand to the mixture, too.

Harry swallows hard, looking at the other boys’ hands and then up at Louis’s face. Louis nods, and then Harry smiles and sticks out his hand. “Fearless.”

+

Freshman year ends in a flurry of final exams and then the sweet, sweet peace of knowing they have two entire months off from school. The talent show is the night after the last day of school, under the lights on the football field, the entire school spread out on picnic blankets and lawn chairs from the 30 yard line all the way to the field goal post at the other end. The stage is a real, proper stage, as well, with lights and speakers and everything, and Harry’s been shaking since the moment the final bell rang earlier today.

“Harry,” Louis says, as they wait for their turn to go onstage. Niall’s tuned his guitar at least three times in the past half hour, and Liam’s drumming on his legs so hard he’s going to have bruises in the shape of a drum kit on his lap for weeks. “Stop chewing your lip, you’re going to start bleeding onstage.”

Harry’s lip pops out from between his teeth instantly, and his eyes go wide. “Oh, God, what if that happens?”

“It won’t happen,” Louis says, tugging Harry closer until he slots into Louis’s side, allowing Louis to rub his back gently. “Everyone, calm the fuck down, or we’re going to fuck up.”

“Keep telling us we’re gonna fuck up, Louis, that’ll help,” Niall grumbles.

“We’re gonna do great,” Louis says. “We’ve practiced the living fuck out of this song, there’s no way we can mess up.”

“It’s true,” Liam says. “We only know one song, it’s not like we can get it confused with anything else.”

“Exactly!” Louis says.

A stagehand touches Louis’s shoulder, and all four of them jump. “You’re on in five,” says the stagehand, a pimple-spotted junior whose name Louis doesn’t know.

“Oh, God,” Harry mutters, pressing his face into Louis’s shoulder. “Heck, heck, heck.”

“Stop saying heck,” Niall says. “Say fuck like a real man.”

“Say fuck,” Liam agrees.

“Shut up,” Harry says, sitting up to rub at his face.

“Say it,” Louis whispers, bumping Harry’s shoulder with his own. “You’ll feel better.”

Harry looks up at him, as if scandalized that Louis would join in with their hooligan friends against him. 

They start a chant, quietly at first, but the nerves are starting to bubble up and it’s making them giddy, and before long they’re jostling Harry’s shoulders, the three of them hovering close enough to breathe on his face while they chant, “ _say fuck, say fuck, say fuck_!”

“Fuck!” Harry shrieks. The others cheer, and at least six stagehands shush them frantically.

“You’re going to kill it,” Louis says, privately, just for Harry, and then jumps to his feet and reaches down to help Harry up, too. 

“Two minutes,” says the stagehand from before, and then they’re ushered to the edge of the stage to watch the previous act finish up. Louis keeps a hand on Harry’s shoulder the whole time, feeling the way he’s shaking through his t-shirt.

“That was Meredith Hereward and Darla Brookes with an interpretive dance to Smack That, by Akon,” the emcee says over the speakers, while the stagehands rush out to change the set for the band to come on. “Next up, coming all the way from the Whitfield High School freshman class, give it up for Fearless!”

There’s a murmur of a cheer from the audience, but Louis can hardly hear them, blood roaring in his ears. He pushes Harry gently, and Harry all but falls onto the stage like a baby deer learning to walk, all four of them scurrying to their places.

There’s masking tape on the front of Liam’s bass drum in the shape of the word _Fearless_ , and when he steps on the kick pedal, a spotlight on the stage will light up the word in glowing letters. Louis’s trembling fingers settle over his keyboard, and he locks eyes with Harry, whose eyes are wider than Louis’s ever seen them. Louis gives him a comforting smile, despite his own nerves, and Harry looks out at the crowd, wrapping one hand around his microphone so tightly that his knuckles go white.

“Hi,” he says, startling a little at the volume of his own voice booming over the speakers. “I’m Harry, and we’re called Fearless.”

The crowd gives another murmur of approval, and Louis turns to look at Liam, who nods and counts him off with four quiet ticks of his drumsticks.

Louis enters the song first, the first chord from his keyboard, set on synth mode, floating out over the football field. He closes his eyes, lets the rest of the world melt away, until they’re back in Liam’s garage, running through the song one more time to get it perfect. 

Once the others join in, the stage falls away entirely, and it’s just the four of them and the music. It’s magical, it’s flawless, and they, finally, are _fearless_.

It ends much too soon. Before Louis’s ready, he’s laying his fingers over the last chord, and Harry’s voice tapers out on one last beautiful note over the silent field. Louis pries his eyes open, and the first thing he sees is Harry, grinning back at him.

The entire crowd is on their feet, cheering so loudly Louis can almost hear them over his own heartbeat. Perrie and the other girls are in the front row, right in front of the stage, hollering and jumping and pumping their fists, and Louis can’t help but laugh, exhilarated by the feeling of being adored like this.

“Wow!” says the emcee, as the stagehands rush back onto the stage and start shooing them toward the wings. “What a performance! That was Fearless! Up next—”

Louis stops listening, because yes, _yes_ , that _was_ fearless. He’s never felt so fearless, so free, running off the stage and grabbing Harry’s hand, twirling around and pulling Harry along with him.

“We did it!” Niall shrieks, colliding with Harry, first, and driving Harry straight into Louis. Liam plows into them from the other side and then they’re all hugging, shouting and laughing and cheering.

“That was amazing!” Liam says, chin digging into Louis’s collarbone where he’s got his head hooked around Louis’s. “I love you guys!”

Harry’s crying, not fully, but there are tears in his eyes, and Louis cannot look away from him. “I love you,” Louis says, breathless, thoughtless, fearless.

“I love you,” Harry says, but he’s not only talking to Louis. Louis flinches, remembers where he is, and plays it off, leaning his head back against Liam’s chest and laughing toward the night sky.

They sit with the girls for the rest of the show, until the very end, when all of the acts are called back up for the results of the judges’ voting. Harry’s shaking again where Louis’s got an arm around his waist, fingers digging into his hip, but Liam’s got a trembling arm around Louis’s shoulders, too, and Niall won’t stop bouncing like he’s about to jump clear into the sky. Louis just breathes in and out; nothing could ever ruin this moment.

“In third place,” the emcee says, pausing for dramatic effect while the crowd rumbles out a drumroll on their knees, “our dauntless freshmen, Fearless!”

Louis opens his eyes, jaw falling open. He never thought they’d actually place, never thought they’d do so well, never thought he’d be so happy to hear the words _third place_ —

Harry looks devastated. He’s trying to smile, but it’s falling flat, and he can’t seem to collect himself enough to walk forward and collect the ribbon that Mrs. Stapleton, the calculus teacher, is trying to hand him. Louis does it for him, holds it up for the crowd, and then steps back to show it to the boys.

“Third place!” Liam squeals quietly, while the emcee goes on with the rankings. “Holy shit!”

“I can’t believe this,” Niall says. “This is the coolest thing _ever_.”

“Why didn’t we win?” Harry mutters, staring at the yellow ribbon in Louis’s hand. “I wanted to win.”

“We got third place, Harry, out of, like, thirty acts,” Louis says, still breathless. “That’s amazing!”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Harry says, grabbing the ribbon to look closer. “Why didn’t we win?”

“Seniors always win,” Niall says, like he knows it for a fact. “I’ve been coming to this every year since Greg was in school, and they always give first place to a senior.”

Harry looks mildly appeased, but still not terribly happy. Louis gets it, in a way; he would’ve loved to win, too, but _third fucking place_ is still pretty awesome.

It’s much later, after the girls have tackled them all over with hugs and kisses on cheeks, after they’ve collected their gear and the girls have packed up their blankets, after they’ve walked around to the front of the school to wait for Louis’s mom to come around in her minivan, that Louis brings it up.

“This was fun,” Louis says, hugging his keyboard case to his chest. “I’m kinda gonna miss this.”

“Me too,” Niall says. “We’re a pretty good band.”

“We’re not done, are we?” Harry asks, alarmed. “We’re still a band.”

“Are we?” Liam asks. “I thought we were just doing this for the talent show?”

“Yeah, and there’s still three more talent shows before we graduate,” Harry says. “We’re not done yet!”

“You guys wanna keep doing this?” Louis asks, grinning. 

“Fearless,” Harry says, like a demand, putting his hand out expectantly. 

“Fearless,” Niall says, and then Liam, each slapping their hands down on top of Harry’s.

Louis laughs brightly, twirling around in a circle like he can’t contain his glee, putting his hand on the top of the pile and tilting his head back to the sky. “Fearless!”

+

They learn a few more songs over the summer, now that they’ve got endless free time, and Liam’s uncle is friends with the guy who owns Pomona’s, the local bar, so they start playing little gigs in there on the weekends. They become something of a local legend over the course of the months of July and August; every other Friday night, Whitfield High School students of all ages crowd into Pomona’s, sipping soda and eating fries, listening to the ragtag little band of freshman that won third place at the end of the year talent show, and who probably will be touring the world by the time they’re eighteen.

That’s what the local paper said, anyway, when they did a story about them last week. They had a proper photoshoot, and everything, and somehow the crowd at Pomona’s gets even bigger, even older than high school seniors, real live _adults_ that want to hear them play.

It’s the coolest summer of Louis’s life. He feels like a rockstar, and he gets to do it all with his three best friends. They’re even cooler than Zayn’s band, now, which is saying a _lot_ , and Zayn comes to almost all of their shows, sitting in the front row with Perrie on his lap, drinking Coke out of a glass bottle with half a smile on his face.

Zayn and Perrie have been properly dating now since the spring, which is probably the only reason why Perrie has been so cool about Louis spending all of his time with the boys. They still see each other all the time, of course, still have dinner and movie nights with the whole group, but as sophomore year looms in the near future, everything seems to be getting a lot bigger than it used to be.

It’s at one of their movie nights, in their pajamas and scattered about the floor in Jesy’s living room, that Louis’s world tips a little on its axis, the light hitting everything just a little bit different.

Everyone else is asleep, on account of the fact that it’s 3am, but Louis and Perrie have been sitting up against the wall in the corner for hours now, eating sour gummy worms and talking about life.

“Not to sound like a total girl,” Perrie says, with half a gummy worm hanging out of her mouth. “But I, like, never thought I could be this happy.”

“ _This_ happy?” Louis asks, glancing down at the bowl of candy between them. “Do you have, like, a sour gummy worm kink, or…?”

“No,” Perrie giggles. “I mean with Zayn.”

Louis smiles, leaning his head back against the wall. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Perrie says, sucking the rest of her gummy worm into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “It’s just, like… so nice, y’know? Even when we’re not together, I can’t stop thinking about him, and I know he’s thinking about me, too. Did you know he has me saved as his first speed dial in his phone? How sweet is that?”

“Really sweet,” Louis says, smiling at the way Perrie blushes.

“Like, literally, Louis, my heart is going so fast right now just talking about him. I think I’m in love with him,” she says quietly.

“Really?” Louis asks, sitting up. “Do you think he feels the same way?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” Perrie says, digging around in the gummy worm bowl for a moment. “I don’t know anyone who’s been in love, y’know? My parents got divorced when I was so little, I can’t ever imagine them feeling this way about each other.”

“What about Liam and Leigh-Anne?” Louis asks. “They’ve been together since fifth grade.”

“Yeah, but, I don’t know,” Perrie says. “They were never this intense. They’ve always just, y’know, known each other.”

Louis nods, eyes settling on one sleeping face in particular across the room. “Do you think it needs to be so intense, though?” he asks. “Like, y’know, you don’t think people can be so madly in love even if they’ve known each other so long?”

“I mean, I’m sure they can,” Perrie says. “What do I know, I’m fourteen.”

“What does it feel like?” Louis asks, putting his head back down without moving his eyes. “Being in love?”

“Like, magic,” Perrie breathes. “Like, he looks at me, and it makes me so happy I have to laugh. Every time he calls me, or talks to me at work, or drops by my house in the middle of the night with chocolates, it’s like my chest just wants to open up and scoop him inside. I can never stop thinking about him, ever. I’m always wondering what he’s doing, what he’s thinking about, if he’s happy or sad or sleeping or pooping. I just wanna be with him all the time, even when we’ve been together all day long, I just want to keep being with him. It’s kind of the worst, but it’s also kind of the best thing in the whole world,” she says.

“That’s beautiful,” Louis whispers, chewing on the inside of his lip.

Across the room, Harry snuffles in his sleep, dragging one hand across his nose and then settling, fingers curled into a loose fist beside his face. His eyelids keep twitching, like he’s dreaming, and Louis thinks he’d give anything, anything in the world, to know what he was dreaming about.

Perrie nudges him, and Louis goes scarlet, looking up at her. She doesn’t say anything, just smiles her perfect, tired smile, and Louis ducks his head, smiling at his lap.

“I love you, Lou,” she says, reaching out to pull him into her side.

“Love you,” Louis says, tucking his head into the crook of her neck, gummy worms forgotten on the floor by their feet.

Perrie falls asleep before long, slumped with her head on top of Louis’s, forcing Louis to stay perfectly still lest he wake her. Louis doesn’t mind, head rising and falling with her steady breathing, but her breaths aren’t the ones he’s counting. His eyes stay locked on a mop of curly hair and pouting pink lips from across the room, all of Perrie’s words swirling around his head at once.

+

The day before school starts finds Louis and Harry in the basement of Harry’s split level, eating chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream out of the same tub, watching reruns of _That ‘70s Show_ on TV. 

“Y’know what would be cool?” Louis says, stealing a hunk of cookie dough right off of Harry’s spoon and popping it in his mouth.

Harry doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, digging for another hunk and offering it up to Louis wordlessly. “What?”

“Being in love,” Louis says, keeping his eyes firmly on the ice cream.

“Yeah?” Harry asks belatedly.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Perrie’s been telling me all about it lately, and it sounds kinda fun.”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment. He’s been acting strange around Perrie lately, snapping at her for mostly no reason, especially if Louis pays her any more attention than he pays Harry. It’s been less so since Zayn entered the picture, but Harry still gets needy if Louis expends his attention elsewhere for too long.

“What’s it like?” Harry asks, voice low.

“Like magic, she says,” Louis explains. “Like, you think about them all the time, you always wanna be with them, you always want to talk to them.”

“That does sound kind of nice,” Harry says. “To be that in love with someone and to have it be, like, mutual,” he shrugs.

“Yeah,” Louis says. And then, after a moment, “Have you ever felt that way about someone?”

Harry pauses for a moment, hand stilling where he’s digging around in the ice cream tub. “I don’t know,” he says quietly.

“I mean,” Louis asks, feeling brave, “have you ever looked at someone and felt your heart race, and you just can’t stop thinking about kissing them, and what their lips would feel like, and how their skin would feel if you touched it, and you just wanna spend all your time with that person, as close to them as possible, like, you just can’t get enough, no matter how long or close you are together, you just can’t care about anything except that person,” he says, staring long and hard at Harry’s side profile.

Harry swallows, dropping his spoon into the ice cream tub and sitting back. “I don’t know,” he says again. “Maybe,” he says, even quieter.

“Who?” Louis asks immediately, sitting up on his knees on the couch. 

“What?” Harry asks, startled.

“Who?” Louis asks again. 

Harry goes red, fidgeting a little where he sits. “I— I don’t know.”

“Who makes you feel that way?” Louis asks, leaning a little closer. His heart is beating out of control. Harry’s lips are so pink, and his skin looks so soft, and his eyes are so, so green and glassy and _perfect_ and _fuck_ Louis wants to—

“Who is it, Harry?” Louis asks, hardly an inch away from his face.

Harry blinks, and then closes his eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” Louis whispers desperately, getting impossibly closer without making contact.

Harry slams into him first, knocking him backwards onto the couch. Louis’s hands go automatically to Harry’s hips, trying to both catch himself from falling and pull Harry closer, his heart beating everywhere, his pulse sending sonic waves through his fingertips into Harry’s soft skin, syncing them together, every part of them, forever.

It’s horrible, and messy, and kind of disgusting, but Louis never wants to stop. Harry keeps trying to climb on top of him, or maybe inside of him, Louis can’t tell, but Harry’s pulling at his clothes and his hair and touching his face and his neck and his chest like he can’t decide what to do with his hands, can’t figure out how to touch all of Louis at once. Louis can’t help but laugh, hands locking on the dip of Harry’s spine and pulling him closer, closer, until there’s no more air between them, and Harry’s forced to settle his hands on Louis’s cheeks, the only place he can still comfortably reach.

It gets a bit better from there until, in a wave of pure excitement, Harry clamps down on Louis’s bottom lip _hard_ with his teeth. Louis yelps and pulls away, reaching up to make sure he isn’t bleeding.

“Sorry,” Harry breathes, panting.

“Ow,” Louis says.

“Are you okay?”

“You bit me.”

“I said sorry!”

Louis laughs, tipping his head back against the couch and grinning up at the ceiling. “Harry,” he says, keeping his arms tight around Harry’s middle so that he can’t go anywhere, even if he wanted to. “Harry, we kissed.”

Harry smiles, locking eyes with Louis’s lips and giggling quietly. “You’re my first kiss.”

Louis cackles a little, overwhelmed in every way Perrie talked about. “You’re _my_ first kiss,” he laughs.

Harry laughs at Louis’s laughter, leaning in to nuzzle his nose against Louis’s.

“Wanna be my second kiss?” Louis asks, once the laughter has died down a little.

“Okay,” Harry grins, pressing one solid kiss to Louis’s lips and then pulling back again. “Third?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, giggling again as Harry leans in to kiss him yet again.

It’s softer this time, slower, a lot less frantic and a lot more tender. They shift around awkwardly until Louis’s on top, cradling Harry’s head in his hands and licking at Harry’s mouth, testing the waters. Harry lets him do whatever he wants, making these quiet little noises of disbelief into Louis’s mouth, like he’s as bewildered as Louis is.

It might be hours later by the time they break apart, the sound of a car door outside punctuating the moment. It’ll be Harry’s mom getting home from work, which means it’ll be time for dinner soon, and then Harry’s mom will drive Louis home and this will all become a memory.

They separate slowly, reluctant to break apart, knees still pressed together once they’re both sitting upright. The ice cream is melted in the tub and _That ‘70s Show_ has turned into _Friends_ , and Louis can’t stop thinking about the feeling of Harry’s lips on his own.

They both track Harry’s mom as she comes in the door, hangs her purse in the coat closet and toes her shoes off on the landing. “Hi, boys!” she calls down the stairs, and Louis and Harry both respond with a distant, “Hi!” and then go back to staring in mutual brain-deadness at the floor. 

“So,” Harry says a little while later, after they’ve both tracked his mom up the half flight of stairs to the main floor of the house and into the kitchen to start dinner. “Do you think you’re, like, gay?”

Louis shrugs one shoulder, bowing his head. “I’ve never really thought about it, but,” he shrugs, glancing over at Harry. “No way I’m straight.”

Harry laughs, looking down quickly. “Cool.”

“You?” Louis asks, watching him closely.

“I don’t know,” Harry says. “But I’ve had a crush on you since, like, elementary school.”

Louis feels every single one of the brain cells in his head die. “ _What_?”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Harry says, looking up at Louis with pink cheeks and worried eyes.

“Why not?” Louis grins. “That’s the greatest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Because,” Harry hisses, “it’s embarrassing that I’ve been pining over you for almost ten years.”

Louis squawks a laugh, clapping a hand over his mouth. “This is the best day of my life!”

“Shut up,” Harry says, swatting at his stomach.

“I mean, I probably have, too, without even realizing it,” Louis says. “Looking back, like…”

Harry nods, finally cracking a smile. “Are we, like, dating, then?” he asks, voice so quiet Louis barely hears it.

“Haven’t we kinda been dating the whole time?” Louis asks.

“No,” Harry says, face falling. “No, we haven’t.”

“Oh,” Louis says. “Then. I mean. Um.”

“Can we be dating?” Harry asks.

“You want to?” Louis asks, lips quirking up.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Please.”

Louis nods, looking down for a moment to contain his smile. “Boyfriends?”

Harry grins, grabbing his hand so hard it hurts. “Boyfriends!”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, letting it sink in, and after a while, Louis turns to face Harry again.

“How the hell are we going to tell the others?” he asks.

“Maybe…” Harry frowns. “Maybe we don’t? Yet?”

Louis blinks, hand twitching in Harry’s. “What?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says, blushing again. “Just, like, in case.”

“In case of what?” Louis asks, his hand going fully slack now. “In case we break up?”

“No,” Harry says.

“We’re not even dating yet and you’re already planning on breaking up with me?” Louis asks.

“No,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Then what?” Louis asks.

“Doesn’t it, like, scare you a little bit? Coming out to them, and having them know that we’re… y’know,” Harry says, shrugging one shoulder.

Louis frowns, shaking his head. “No, I don’t follow,” Louis says. “You don’t think they’ll be supportive?”

“It’s not that,” Harry says. “I think they’ll be supportive, sure, but…”

“I wanna kiss you in the gym with the whole school in the bleachers,” Louis says, “I don’t care who knows.”

Harry goes red, blinking once. “You do?”

Louis smiles, cupping Harry’s face and kissing him for a fourth ( _fourth_!) time. “Yeah,” he whispers.

Harry melts a little, his smile regrowing on his face. “I don’t think I’m as brave as you,” he admits, looking as soft as his voice sounds.

“It’s okay,” Louis says, ducking his head a little. “We don’t need to tell anyone, not if you don’t want to,” he says.

“Sorry,” Harry breathes.

“It’s okay,” Louis smiles, poking his cheek.

“It’s not that I’m ashamed, or scared,” Harry says. “I just like you a lot, and I want to keep you to myself for a little while,” he says.

“I can get with that,” Louis smiles, hooking his hand around the back of Harry’s neck and pulling him in to kiss him one more time.

Harry pulls away after a little while, giggling in Louis’s face. “You’re my boyfriend,” he says, eyes sparkling.

“You’re _my_ boyfriend,” Louis giggles back.

They cuddle close to each other for the rest of the episode of _Friends_ on TV, and before Louis is ready to let go, Harry’s mom calls them upstairs for dinner.

Eating dinner at the table with Harry and Harry’s mom and step dad and sister is the most familiar thing in the world to Louis, but it’s never felt like it does right now, with Harry directly across the table from him, the biggest secret in the world hanging on the chandelier between them, threatening to pull the whole house down. Harry just keeps laughing into his spaghetti and Louis’s sure that everyone at the table knows what’s going on, but no one says anything, and when it starts to get dark out, Harry’s mom drives Louis home and Louis says goodnight like always, gets out of the car like always, and lets himself into his house like always.

He spends the rest of the night, _like always_ , thinking about Harry, but now it means something, and he’s never felt so jittery and out of his mind in all his life. He wants so badly to call Perrie and gush about Harry the way she gushes about Zayn but he can’t, he can’t do that to Harry, and he won’t.

It’s not so bad, he guesses, considering they have the rest of their lives to do all the things Louis can’t stop thinking about now, like holding hands in public, kissing in the hallways at school, grossing all of their friends out with how madly in love they are. He guesses he can wait.

+

Things get weird as soon as school starts, but only insofar as that nothing is weird at _all_. Louis kinda thought that all their shows at Pomona’s would get them some kind of street cred around school, but for all Louis wears the _Fearless_ shirts that Leigh-Anne made in her screenprinting class over the summer, no one seems to give a shit about any of them at the school the way they do when they’re onstage.

It’s mostly fine, until Harry slams his tray down on the lunch table after fourth period, a nasty snarl on his face. “This is bullshit,” he spits, popping a grape into his mouth and biting down so hard Louis can hear the _squish_ from across the table.

“What?” Perrie asks, watching him curiously.

“Parker King just tripped me in the hallway,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. Louis clenches a fist under the table, but they’re not in first grade anymore; Harry can hold his own now, especially since they’ve been in the band, and Harry’s confidence has increased tenfold. 

“What an ass,” Perrie scoffs. 

“Last weekend, he was at Pomona’s,” Harry says conspiratorially. “I saw him. He was dancing with everyone else. How’s he gonna dance to our music and then trip me in the fucking hallway?”

“That’s fucked up,” Jesy says. “Don’t worry about him, though, he’s probably just jealous.”

“I’m not worried about him,” Harry mutters, “I’m worried about the fact that everyone in the hallway laughed when it happened.”

“What the fuck,” Louis says lowly, but Harry gives him a look, and Louis tries to cool it.

“So?” Perrie says. “Everyone always laughs when we get picked on. We’re still drama chorus kids, remember? We may not be freshmen anymore, but we’re still the bottom of the food chain.”

“I know for a _fact_ that some of those girls laughing were at Pomona’s last weekend, too!” Harry says. “I don’t get it! How can they cheer for us one day, but the next day they don’t have the time of day for us?”

Louis shrugs, taking a bite of his ham and cheese and doing a pretty stellar job of pretending his blood isn't boiling at the thought of anyone messing with Harry. “I’d rather they ignore us than be fake to us, honestly,” he says. 

“I guess,” Harry sighs, pressing down on a grape on his tray with his index finger until it bursts. “It just sucks,” he says.

“It’s only the first day,” Louis says, “maybe they’re all just getting it out of their system early.”

“Whatever,” Harry mutters.

Louis reaches his foot out to nudge Harry’s under the table, and Harry looks up at him, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders. They’re in the middle of the table, sheltered by friends on either side, so Louis doesn’t feel he’s taking a risk by resting his foot on top of Harry’s, just to be touching him in some way.

Harry’s quiet for the rest of lunch, lips quirked up in a tiny smile while he eats. He’s still upset, Louis can tell, and he’s probably not going to get over this for a while, but if Louis can be the one comforting him, making him feel better about the whole thing, maybe it won’t be so bad.

+

At some point, Liam’s house becomes the designated hangout spot; he’s got a massive finished basement and a DVD player and surround sound speakers, and his mom doesn’t care how much noise they make or how late they stay, because the house is big enough that she can’t hear from her second story bedroom. They’ve been having all of their movie nights here for months now, so it only seems fitting that, when they decide to throw a holiday party, it takes place in Liam’s basement.

They’ve got enough candy and cookies to sink a small ship, as well as every Christmas movie that each of them own on DVD. Harry and Louis went to Walmart earlier just to buy a few extra gooey Christmas movies, even if their friends still don’t know that they’re dating.

Louis’s absolutely dying to tell someone, because every day that he spends with Harry, he falls a little more in love with him. It’s been almost four full months now, and neither of them have ever been happier in their lives, and Louis is honestly surprised that no one else seems to have noticed yet.

They’re halfway through the third movie of the evening, some terrible Hallmark movie about the same thing every other Hallmark movie is about, and Louis’s getting rather bored. He’s thoroughly full of sugar, desperate for someone’s attention if he can’t have Harry’s in front of all these people, and so, naturally, he decides to pick up the bowl of leftover sprinkles from the sugarcookies they all devoured earlier and pour them down the back of Liam’s sweatpants when he gets up to go to the bathroom.

Liam shrieks, rounding on Louis instantly and tackling him to the floor. Louis screams his laughter, squirming out from under Liam and reaching for a handful of chocolate covered pretzels, firing them at Liam like bullets to keep him at bay. His aim is spectacularly horrible, though, because on the first shot, he misses Liam’s head by a mile and the pretzel lands perfectly in Leigh-Anne’s hair.

Everyone gasps, but Leigh-Anne just bites the side of her tongue, plucks the candy out of her hair, and narrows her eyes at Louis. “You’re dead, Tomlinson.”

It’s hard to say who makes the next move, because suddenly the entire basement is alive with flying food, M&Ms and jelly beans and snowcaps hurling through the air like a battlefield. Louis manages to flee the entire situation, ducking behind the couch and watching as the mayhem he’s created ensues. He only gets a moment of freedom before someone grabs the back of his shirt, though, and he whirls around, finding Harry watching him with a grin on his face.

“You menace,” Harry says, mashing an entire cupcake against Louis’s cheek.

Louis gasps, freezing in place for a moment. Harry howls with laughter, reaching up to swipe some frosting off of Louis’s cheek with his finger, but Louis’s on him before he can lick it off.

He tackles him backwards, scraping a handful of cupcake off of his face and mashing it into Harry’s face, instead. Harry shrieks, rolling them over so that he’s on top, but Louis doesn’t let him have the victory for long, rolling again and trying to force Harry to lick the frosting off his fingers. 

He doesn’t know exactly how it happens, but suddenly they’re kissing, laughing into each other’s mouths, fingers intertwined, right there on Liam’s basement floor. It goes on for approximately two seconds before someone screams, and Louis bolts upright.

“I saw you!” Perrie is screaming, jumping up and down on the couch. Everything is frozen, suspended in time, and Louis can’t look away from Harry, his jaw slack. “You kissed! They kissed! Louis and Harry kissed!” Perrie is still shrieking.

Louis looks up, a smile slowly forming on his face. Everyone looks vaguely surprised, but not nearly as much as Louis expected them to be, and when he looks back down at Harry, Harry is barely suppressing his own smile.

“Get up,” Perrie demands, marching over to where the two of them are still on the floor. Louis scrambles to his feet, and Harry follows right after, cowering behind Louis as Perrie marches over to them. “Are you two dating?” she asks, getting right in Louis’s face.

Louis presses back into Harry a bit, away from Perrie’s menacing stare. He glances over his shoulder, meeting Harry’s eyes, and effectively puts the ball in Harry’s court.

Harry purses his lips to hide his smile, bows his head, and nods.

Perrie screams again, dragging both of them into her arms. Louis grins and hugs her, smiling at Harry over her shoulder. “I knew it!” Perrie is shouting, breaking away and whipping around to point at Liam and Jesy. “You lose!”

“Wait, what?” Louis frowns, finally catching on to the way Liam and Jesy are both groaning. “What’s going on?”

“We put money on how long it would take you guys to start sucking face,” Niall says, looking pleased. “I bet that you already were.”

Louis laughs brightly, glancing over at Harry again. Harry looks mortified, face still smeared with cupcake, but he smiles anyway, tucking himself into Louis’s side.

Louis can’t help himself, ducks down to catch Harry’s lips, kissing his mouth clean of frosting. Harry smiles against his lips, and everyone groans, losing interest quickly. Louis keeps giggling, deepening the kiss a little bit, at which the group protests, and then Harry goes so far as to grab Louis’s ass, and finally they’re physically wrenched apart and restrained.

“C’mon,” Perrie is whining, “even Zayn and I don’t do that.”

“We could do that,” Zayn says, shrugging. “Wanna do that?”

“No!” Jade says, standing between the two of them. “For fuck’s sake, how many couples are in this friend group now?”

“Three,” Harry says helpfully, still struggling against the bear hug Liam’s got him in. 

“We’re a loving bunch,” Louis says, “but Jesy, I swear to god, if you don’t let go of me, I’ll kill you.”

“You’re so small,” Jesy says, “it’s like holding a gecko.”

Louis, given no other choice, bites her, and then flees to the other side of the room. Harry follows his lead and attempts to bite Liam, but Liam drops his arms immediately (“I do _not_ know where that mouth has been!”) and Harry runs to Louis, catching him in the corner and kissing him quickly on the lips.

“You did that on purpose,” he says, but he’s still smiling, pulling Louis into his arms.

“I swear I didn’t, on account of I’m pretty sure you initiated that kiss,” Louis says.

“Did not,” Harry says.

“Did too,” Louis says.

“Did not!”

“Let’s make it even, then,” Louis says leaning up and kissing Harry square on the mouth. Harry looks stunned, and Louis pulls away grinning. “Better?”

“You’re a shit,” Harry says, making to lean in again, but before he can get there, they’re being dragged away from each other again, and they’re forced to spend the rest of the party on opposite ends of the couch.

Louis feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders that he didn’t know was there in the first place, and maybe they still won’t be out at school or anything, but knowing that they’re free and loved and supported by their friends is good enough for now. Maybe Louis will never get the chance to stand on a rooftop and scream his love for Harry for the whole world to hear, but for now, he gets to stretch his arm over the back of the couch to just barely hold Harry’s hand, and maybe, maybe, that’s enough.

+

There’s something inherently terrifying about seeing the principal striding through the cafeteria at lunch time with a determined look on his face, heading straight for your lunch table, like he knows who you are and what you’ve done, even if you’ve done nothing at all. Liam spots him first, nudges Louis’s shoulder, and Louis shrinks back in his seat a little, giving Niall a look that he hopes is discrete enough to tell Niall to stop talking about the snot rocket he blew last night without alerting Mr. Foster of anything.

“Boys,” Mr. Foster says, leaning his hands on the table. The four of them look up, slack jawed, and the girls quickly turn away, acting as if they’ve been deep in conversation the whole time. “Harry, Niall, Liam, and Louis, right?”

The four of them nod, hearts sinking, and then Mr. Foster grins. 

“I have a very big question to ask you,” Mr. Foster says. “Would you come with me to my office a moment?”

They get up slowly, throwing nervous glances back at the girls as Mr. Foster leads them out of the cafeteria and back toward the front of the school, to where his office is. Harry grabs for Louis’s hand once they’re out of sight of the rest of the school, and Louis squeezes tight.

“What did we do?” Niall breathes, looking up at Liam. Liam elbows him hard, face tomato red, and then Mr. Foster gestures for them all to take a seat while he perches on the edge of his desk.

“You’ve heard of the spring dinner dance coming up in a few months, yes?” Mr. Foster asks.

The others look nervous, so Louis takes control, nodding once. “We all went last year,” he says.

“Excellent,” Mr. Foster says. “Y’know, I’ve taken quite an interest in your band. I’ve been to Pomona’s for your last three shows,” he admits.

“Really?” Harry asks, finally cracking a smile.

“Really,” Mr. Foster says. “I was wondering, boys, if it wouldn’t be too much to ask to have you put together a little set for the dinner dance in March.”

Niall elbows Liam so hard that Liam wheezes, and Harry grins at Louis. “A whole set?” Louis squeaks out.

“Maybe an hour, or so,” Mr. Foster says. “Unless you want to go longer, y’know, we can negotiate. We’ll have a DJ for the rest of the evening, but we thought it might be nice to include your band in the festivities, since everyone seems to enjoy your music so much.”

“Done,” Harry says, extending his hand quickly. Mr. Foster shakes it, amused, and Louis nudges Harry’s side. 

“We’ve only ever played half hour sets at Pomona’s,” Louis says, before everyone can get their hopes up too high. “I don’t think we know that many songs.”

“We can learn more songs,” Harry says. 

“And we have two months,” Liam adds.

“The dance is in the middle of March,” Louis says, “it’s almost the end of January. That gives us a month and a half to learn, like, twice as many songs as we know now.”

“We can cut it to half an hour, if you’d prefer,” Mr. Foster says. “I don’t want to overwhelm you, or distract you from your schoolwork—”

“We’ll do the hour,” Harry says, standing up quickly. “Thank you so much, Mr. Foster, this is such a cool opportunity.”

“Great!” Mr. Foster days, clapping his hands once and climbing down off his desk. “I’ll reach out again closer to April, see how you’re progressing—”

“Sounds good!” Harry says, already tugging Louis out of the office. Niall and Liam follow quickly, closing the door behind themselves, and Harry punches each of them once in the arm.

“Ow,” Niall says.

“This is sick!” Harry says, punching Niall again.

“Harry—” Louis tries.

“The spring dinner dance!” Harry says, grabbing Louis by the waist and twirling him around the empty front hallway of the school. “How cool is this! Maybe next year he’ll ask us to do _prom_!”

“Harry—” Louis tries again, pushing his hands away and trying to get his attention. 

“An _hour long set_ ,” Liam says, feeding off of Harry’s giddiness, apparently. “This is amazing!”

“Will you all shut up?” Louis says, loud enough that it bounces around the hallway a little. The others fall silent, and Harry looks a little hurt, but Louis’s got to talk some sense into them somehow. “An hour set is roughly twelve songs, give or take a few minutes. We currently know about seven songs well enough to play them live, and it’s taken us a year and a half to learn that many. How are we supposed to learn five more songs in a month and a half?”

“Relax,” Harry says, frowning. “We can do it.”

“Plus,” Liam says, “the first, like, year was all spent on one song. The other six we learned over a couple months,” he shrugs.

Louis rolls his eyes, shaking his head at the ceiling.

“So, what, you don’t think we should do it?” Harry asks. “You think we should say ‘thanks, but no thanks, Mr. Foster, we’d rather not finally win over the public respect of our peers.’”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Louis says, “I’m saying we shouldn’t have rushed into it so quickly, maybe, we should’ve given it a little more thought, at least picked out the five new songs,” he says.

“We’re doing it,” Harry says, jaw set. Louis’s never heard him use this tone of voice. “I don’t care what you say.”

Louis scoffs, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, you don’t?”

“No,” Harry says, unwavering. “Why don’t you believe in us?”

“Why don’t I believe in us?” Louis laughs, shaking his head. “Maybe because _some_ of us do more than learn the words to a song and look cute singing them. _Some_ of us actually have to fucking, I don’t know, _learn the music_!”

Harry’s face goes red, but more in anger than embarrassment. “Not my fault some of us aren’t talented,” he says, voice low.

Louis’s stomach drops, but before he can even react, Harry’s grabbing at his hands, getting close to his face.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, eyes wide. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, pulling his hands away from Harry and turning on his heel, marching off down the hallway. Harry catches up to him immediately, trying to pull him to a stop, but Louis just turns around and shoves him as hard as he can, sending him stumbling back into Niall and Liam. The bell rings as if on cue, and Louis doesn’t turn around again, heading straight to his next class.

As hard as he tries, he can’t think about anything for the rest of the day other than what Harry said, _not my fault some of us aren’t talented_. It was probably just a heat of the moment thing, an off the cuff reply, but it feels like a knife in Louis’s stomach, or maybe possibly his back, and it won’t stop stinging.

At the end of the day, he walks silently to the bus, plopping down in a seat near the back and leaning his head against the window. He watches Harry spot him from the front door of the school, watches Harry sprint all the way to the bus, but he doesn’t move his head to watch Harry come bombing down the aisle.

“Baby,” he breathes, slamming down into the seat beside him. “Louis, I’m so—”

Louis closes his eyes, turning his face a little more toward the window. 

“Louis,” Harry says, and he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears, so Louis finally looks up, finding Harry’s eyes red-rimmed and puffy like he’s already been crying.

“Is that really what you think of me?” Louis asks quietly, as the bus pulls away from the curb. 

“ _No_ ,” Harry says, sliding down in the seat until he can lay himself across Louis’s chest, hugging him tight. “I don’t know why I said that, because I don’t think that at _all_. Louis, you carry most of the sound of the entire band. And you’re right, anyway, we should have taken some time to talk about it, figure it out, maybe asked for a slightly shorter set. I just got so excited, it seemed like such a big deal, I didn’t think about how stupid we’d look if we half-assed five new songs and bombed the whole set. I just didn’t want you to be right, and I said something stupid to hurt you and make you shut up,” he explains.

“It worked,” Louis says quietly, looking back out the window.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry says, pressing his face into Louis’s chest. “You’re the most talented person I know. Sometimes I wish I— okay, I know it sounds like I’m just saying this, but I swear to God, I wish I was as talented as you. At, like, _everything_ , Louis, seriously. You can play the piano, you can sing, you can act, you can dance, you can write, you can do everything I wish I could do and you do it _so fucking well_ , sometimes I’m, like— jealous, I guess,” he says. “It’s not an excuse. But it’s true.”

Louis doesn’t say anything for a moment, chewing on the inside of his lip. Harry squeezes him a little tighter incrementally for every second he doesn’t reply, and then finally props his chin up on Louis’s chest to look up at him when he’s about two squeezes away from breaking Louis’s ribs.

“Say something,” Harry whispers, watching him closely. “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” Louis says. 

“Then why aren’t you talking to me?” Harry asks, voice cracking.

Louis shrugs, jostling Harry’s head around a little. Harry sighs and sits up, rubbing at his eyes. 

“I’ll tell Mr. Foster we can’t do the dance,” Harry says quietly. “We should be focusing on learning something new for the end of the year talent show, anyway, right?”

Louis shrugs again, keeping his eyes glued to a water spot on the window to avoid Harry’s gaze.

“Stop,” Harry says, shoving at his shoulder a little. “Louis.”

Louis swallows hard, clenching his jaw and glaring at the water spot, hands curling into fists in his lap.

“Louis,” Harry says again, softer, taking Louis’s hand in his own. He gently pries each of Louis’s fingers away from each other and slots his own fingers between them, letting Louis squeeze his hand as hard as he can without saying a word.

Finally, Louis turns away from the window, burrowing into Harry’s side. “Can I get off the bus at yours?” he asks quietly, into the lapel of Harry’s coat.

“Of course,” Harry says, rubbing his thumb over the back of Louis’s hand.

They don’t speak again until the bus stops in front of Harry’s, and they keep their hands to themselves until they get inside, but once they’re on the landing inside the front door, Harry gathers Louis into his arms and squeezes the life out of him. “I’m sorry,” he says again, breathing the word into Louis’s neck.

Louis hugs him back, but only barely, waiting for Harry to let him go. The second he’s free, he walks up the stairs into Harry’s living room, grabbing the landline off of the charger and dialing carefully.

“Who are you calling?” Harry asks, rushing up the stairs behind him. “Lou?”

“Liam,” Louis says, putting the phone to his ear and settling his eyes on Harry’s chest.

“Why?” Harry asks nervously.

“Hi, Liam,” Louis says, “it’s Louis. Come over to Harry’s, and bring Niall. If we’re learning five songs before March, we’d better start now.”

+

The spring dinner dance is only a slight disaster, and to be fair, no one probably noticed except for the four of them. They somehow managed to pull four new covers out of thin air in time for the dance, and Harry covers the extra few minutes by telling jokes between every few songs, and by the time their hour is over, they’ve got even the most popular seniors cheering for them, shouting for an encore.

“Thank you,” Harry says into the microphone, clasping his hands together behind his back. He’s so adorable, Louis doesn’t understand how the entire school isn’t in love with him. “We’re Fearless, you can see us every third Friday night at Pomona’s in Whitfield center.”

The gymnasium cheers them out, and the second they’re off the stage, Louis loses sight of everything. There’s a crowd the size of the entire sophomore class swarming around them, and Louis ducks his head to flee for his life, pushing to the back wall of the gym where Liam and Niall are waiting, too, watching the crowd with wide eyes.

“What the hell?” Niall asks, staring at something in the middle of the crowd.

“It’s like we’re famous,” Louis giggles, looking up at the crowd. 

“No,” Niall says, pointing at whatever he’s staring at. Suddenly Louis spots it, too; Harry’s in the center of the crowd, grinning ear to ear, chatting with a whole mess of seniors in pretty dresses and perfectly curled hair. “We’re like the non-Adam-Levine guys in Maroon 5,” Niall corrects him.

It’s true. No one is paying an ounce of attention to the three of them, but they’re falling all over Harry, tweaking his curls and poking his cheeks and taking pictures with their digital cameras like he _is_ Adam Levine. 

“Must be nice to be the lead singer,” Liam mutters, glancing sideways at Louis.

“Yeah,” Louis says, throat dry. “Must be nice.”

+

Everything changes after the dinner dance, but only in all the worst ways.

To be clear, nothing changes for Louis, or Niall, or Liam, except that every now and again someone will say hi to them in the hallway or, like, pick up the pencil they dropped, or something. Harry, on the other hand, has become a full-blown celebrity; it’s like people didn’t know the cute singer from that band at Pomona’s went to Whitfield, but now that they know who he is, everyone wants to be friends with him.

If Louis was a slightly better person, this would be fine. He would be happy that everyone’s as obsessed with Harry as he is, and he wouldn’t be so bitter about the fact that Harry’s the only one getting any attention. Harry, for his part, never seems particularly thrilled about any of it, but he’s polite, smiles and talks with people even as Louis can see his eyes darting around, looking for his escape.

It’s been a week since the dance, and last night, when Harry fell asleep during their homework date, Louis found three phone numbers on scraps of paper at the bottom of Harry’s backpack. He knows Harry would never do anything with anyone except him, would never even think about it, but it still fucking sucks, and Louis still tears each phone number into confetti and scatters them outside his bedroom window.

The worst part, by far, is that they’re not out to anyone at school. Actually, that’s not even the worst part; the _worst_ part is that they can’t be out, because if they were, all of this would go away entirely, and no one would ever show up to watch them at Pomona’s ever again. All Louis wants in the world is to hold Harry’s hand in the hallway, tell all those girls with their glossy lips and their phone numbers written on gum wrappers to fuck off and leave his boy alone. He can’t do that, though, because Harry doesn’t want to be out at school and even if he did, they’d have a lot bigger problems to deal with than some skinny blonde junior touching Harry’s arm and looking at him through her fake eyelashes. 

It still hurts, though, especially when Louis comes around the corner to meet Harry at his locker before lunch, like they’ve done every day this year, and he finds Harry staring owl eyed at some girl leaning against the wall of lockers next to him, brushing her hair away from her shoulders every few seconds and laughing at nothing, apparently.

Louis tries to be amused by it, but he can’t really do it. He slows to a stop at the corner of the hallway, camouflaged by the students rushing around him to their classes, and watches, heart sinking as the girl moves closer to Harry, flipping her hair around just to brush it behind her shoulder again.

“Move,” someone says, and then flattens Louis against the wall, pushing past him like he isn’t there at all. Louis grunts, looking up to find Parker King lumbering down the hallway like he owns the place, and then he looks back toward Harry just in time to see his new friend lean in, pressing a peach tinted, sticky kiss to his cheek.

Harry gives her an awkward smile, and then the bell rings, and the girl touches his arm once more before setting off. Louis looks down at his feet, almost expecting to see his heart down there on the dirty tile floor, too, trying to wipe the image out of his mind as frantically as Harry is trying to wipe the kiss off his cheek.

He manages to recover just enough to play dumb when Harry comes over to him. Surely, Harry’s about to tell him the whole story, but for some reason, Louis doesn’t want him to know he saw anything. He straightens up, making eye contact with Harry just before Harry bumps his shoulder.

“Hey,” Harry says, smiling easily. His cheek is a bit red from rubbing at it, but other than, he seems totally cool. “Ready to go to lunch?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, letting Harry lead the way down the hall to the stairwell. Harry doesn’t say a word the entire walk to the cafeteria, nor once they’ve claimed their seats, or even when the others arrive, too. Louis’s heart sinks a little more with every passing second, and he barely touches his sandwich, listening to Harry talk and laugh with their friends as if nothing happened at all.

Well, Louis thinks, this is concerning. How many other kisses has Harry received in the past week that he didn’t tell Louis about? Why the _fuck_ isn’t Harry telling him?

He feels like an idiot, frankly, because it’s only just occurring to him that all of this attention is something Harry’s wanted all along, and now that he’s got it, what’s keeping him with nerdy, dorky little Louis? Nothing, that’s what. Harry doesn’t even want to hold his hand in public. Harry would never let Louis kiss his cheek at his locker, caress his arm so tenderly; Harry barely even lets him do that stuff around their friends, fucking hell, is Harry ashamed of him? Is Harry going to break up with him?

“Hey,” Harry says quietly, kicking out at Louis under the table. Louis looks up, startled, and Harry cocks his head at him. “Are you alright? You’re quiet,” he says.

“Are you gonna break up with me?” Louis asks, instantly gaining the attention of the entire table. Everyone goes silent, and Harry blushes the same color as Niall’s red crewneck, eyes going wide.

“What?” he splutters.

“Sorry,” Louis says, waving everyone off. “Sorry, nevermind.”

“Louis, what?” Harry asks again, quieter, more private. They’re at the far left end of the table, and everyone turns away stiffly, quickly restarting their conversation to give Harry and Louis a moment to discuss whatever the hell _that’s_ about.

“Nevermind,” Louis says again, looking down. “We can talk about it later.”

“Lou,” Harry says, like he’s not going to let it go. “What— did I do something?”

“I don’t know,” Louis says, looking up at him for a long few seconds. “Did you?”

Harry goes even redder, but he still doesn’t seem to understand. “What?”

Louis shakes his head, giving up on his sandwich and shoving it back into his lunchbox. He pulls on the edge of Perrie’s denim jacket, and she shifts to let him into the conversation, wrapping her arm around his shoulders and giving Harry a sideways glance. It’s Harry’s turn to be silent now, and he spends the rest of lunch staring down at the table, trying to figure out what Louis meant.

Maybe it’s not such a big deal after all, Louis thinks, if Harry can’t even figure out what’s going on. It’s funny, though, because it still feels like a big deal, and every time Louis thinks about it, he gets a stone in the pit of his stomach, weighing him down and keeping his mind on it.

By the end of the day, Louis’s convinced himself that he’s overreacting, that Harry would never cheat on him, that the only reason Harry didn’t spit in that girl’s face is because he’s far too polite and awkward to do it. When Harry climbs onto the bus behind him, slamming himself down in the seat next to him, Louis opens his mouth to apologize, but Harry beats him to it.

“I think—” Harry starts, his face already red as he cuts himself off and clears his throat. “I think I know what you were talking about earlier.”

Louis closes his mouth, pursing his lips and sliding down in the seat.

“Did you, like, did you see something?” Harry asks, voice low. “Near my locker, before lunch?”

Louis hesitates, and then nods.

“Fuck,” Harry sighs, sliding down against the back of the seat, too. He leans his shoulder against Louis’s, grabbing his hand and hiding it between their thighs the way they used to do when they were little. 

“It’s fine,” Louis says. “I shouldn’t have said that, at lunch. I should’ve just asked about it.”

“I swear, I’ve never talked to that girl in my life,” Harry says. “I didn’t know what to do. She just came up and started talking to me, and I was too awkward to tell her I had to go, so I just stood there and let her talk. She was so annoying, too, gosh, and all of a sudden she kissed me and I just— I didn’t know what to do,” he says.

Louis nods, focusing on the feeling of Harry’s thumb tracing gentle circles over the back of his hand. “Why didn’t you tell me about it, though?” Louis asks, not looking up at Harry’s face.

Harry’s quiet for a beat, and then clears his throat, a nervous habit. “What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Louis asks. “If a random girl ever came up and kissed my cheek, I’d run straight to you and tell you everything, just because of how, I don’t know, _bizarre_ it is. But you were going to just pretend nothing happened, weren’t you? Why were you going to keep it from me?” he asks.

“I—” Harry blinks. “I don’t— I don’t know. It wasn’t like that, it was—”

“What?” Louis pushes gently. “It was what?”

“It wasn’t my, like, thing,” Harry says, frustrated. “I feel like every time I turn around, I hurt you by accident, and it makes me want to fucking die, Louis. I keep messing up, I keep proving to myself that I’m not good enough for you and I’m scared you’re gonna realize it, too, and then this is all gonna go away,” he says.

Louis chooses not to call him on the cop out, biting on his tongue for a moment. “What do you mean, you keep hurting me?”

“Like, the thing with the dinner dance, when we fought, and then last week, I made your tea wrong, even though I’ve known you since _literally_ the moment I was born, and—”

“Harry,” Louis says, giggling quietly.

“And two weeks ago, I broke the lamp in your bedroom, and I didn’t do anything about it,” Harry says, like he’s on the verge of tears.

Louis gasps. “You did that?”

“ _Yes_!” Harry says, looking over at him.

“Well, fuck,” Louis says. “I owe Lottie an apology.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, digging his face into Louis’s neck.

“It’s okay,” Louis says, squeezing his hand. They’re down low enough in the seat that no one else on the bus can see them, so Louis turns his head, pressing a kiss to Harry’s head. “I don’t care about the tea, or the lamp. I kinda care about that girl, but I know I shouldn’t,” he admits.

“Here,” Harry says, sitting up a little and presenting his cheek to Louis.

Louis blinks, trying to meet his eye. “Uh?”

“She kissed me right there,” Harry says, pointing just below his right dimple. Louis knows the spot well. “Kiss me, cancel it out.”

Louis grins, licking his thumb and wiping at Harry’s skin, just to make sure all traces of that girl are gone. He pecks Harry’s cheek gently, and then, once he’s sure no one’s paying any attention to them, he sinks down, kissing Harry on the mouth, instead.

Harry hums quietly and pulls away, grinning at him. “Hey,” he says.

“Sorry,” Louis says, smoothing his thumb over Harry’s cheek one more time. “Couldn’t help myself.”

They don’t talk much for the rest of the bus ride, but Harry doesn’t let go of his hand the whole time, until they’re almost at his house. “Can I come to yours?” Harry asks, sinking down a little more to hide from the bus driver.

“Please,” Louis says, because as nice as Harry’s gesture was, he still doesn’t totally feel like he’s canceled out that girl’s kiss, and he has a feeling they’ve a lot of catching up to do. The bus drives straight past Harry’s, and Louis can’t believe he ever thought Harry might be over him.

+

With all the added fame from the spring dinner dance under their belts, Fearless has high hopes for the end of the year talent show this year. They’ve been working on a cover of Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol for the past few weeks; the piano part is arguably the most important part of the song, and Louis spends the last week or so before the show on the phone to Harry until the small hours of the morning, practicing his playing while Harry sings quietly to him down the line.

The thing is, if the show was judged by the audience, everyone knows that Fearless would win first prize. They’re the best out of all the bands that have sprung up in the area in the past year or so, and they definitely have the support of the masses now that Harry’s become something of a local celebrity. For the past ten years that the talent show has happened, though, a senior act always wins the competition, and seeing as how they’re only sophomores, they know they don’t have much of a chance at first place. They’re pretty confident in second place, almost willing to bet on it, and by the last day of school, they’ve rehearsed so well that they could probably play the show in their sleep and still win second place.

Harry’s been a mess of nerves the entire day, the way he always is before a show. They haven’t played anything this big since the last talent show; even the spring dinner dance wasn’t this big, with people from all over town spreading out over the football field, the massive stage set up at the 30 yard line. Louis has a view of the football field from the window of his last final exam of sophomore year, and he’s so distracted watching the crew set the stage up, he almost doesn’t finish his exam in time.

Liam’s mom picks them all up at the end of the day, and they rush back to Liam’s garage for a last couple of run-throughs before they’ve got to be back at the school at 5. Harry presses close to Louis’s side in the way back of Liam’s mom’s minivan, and Louis holds his hand just to rub his thumb in tiny circles over the back of it, the way he loves when Harry does it to him.

They manage a brief warmup session and then five run-throughs of the song, all of which are perfect, flawless, unable to be improved upon, and they’re feeling good as they all branch off to different areas of Liam’s house to change and get ready for the show. Harry and Louis decide to share Liam’s mom’s master bathroom, with her permission, of course, and before Harry can start undressing to change into his show clothes, Louis presses him back against the door and kisses him sweetly.

“Are you nervous?” he asks, talking mostly into Harry’s mouth.

“Yes,” Harry says, dropping his forehead against Louis’s shoulder.

“‘Bout what?” Louis asks. He’s nervous too, obviously, but if he can figure out how to calm Harry down, maybe he can figure out how to calm himself down, as well.

“The size of the crowd, mostly,” Harry says. “It’s a lot of people.”

“We’ve done it before,” Louis says. “First time we ever played in front of people was to the same crowd. We’re better now, and we already know they love us,” he says. _You_ , his brain corrects him, _they love you, and us by association_.

“Yeah, but,” Harry sighs, turning his face into the curve of Louis’s neck. “Still scary.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “I know.”

“Are you nervous?” Harry asks, almost like an afterthought.

“Of course I am,” Louis says. “Have you heard the fucking piano part in this song?”

“You kill it every time,” Harry says, leaning up to kiss Louis’s cheek. “And you’ve been practicing so hard. If any of us messes up, it won’t be you.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, slipping his arms around Harry’s waist for just a quick squeeze. Harry gets his arms around Louis’s shoulders, though, and draws it out, crushing Louis to his chest and breathing into his ear.

“We can do this,” he whispers, kissing the shell of Louis’s ear and sending a rush of chills down his spine. “We can do _anything_.”

Louis grins, mashing his smile into Harry’s shoulder. “Fearless,” he murmurs.

“Fearless,” Harry agrees.

With that, they break away, and Louis digs through his backpack for his carefully folded black jeans and white polo. He’s been carrying his blazer around with him all day to keep it from getting wrinkled, and Harry’s done the same. 

He undresses quickly, eager to get into his clothes and out the door so they can do a bit more practicing in some dark hallway of the school. He glances over, mostly by accident, at Harry at the other end of the bathroom, and pauses where he’s halfway through folding up the shorts he wore to school today. 

Harry is down to his underwear, hands trembling a little as he reaches for his jeans. Harry happens to catch him looking and turns, still facing the wall, but staring directly at Louis, who is also standing frozen in place in just his underwear.

They’ve seen each other naked countless times, of course; they’ve been friends since Harry was a day old, they grew up together, had baths together as toddlers and have crowded into the same shower in the locker room at school to save time more often than either of them would like to admit. Louis’s not sure he’s seen this much of Harry since they started dating, though, and it feels different, looking at all of Harry’s pale, freckled skin and thinking, y’know, not totally pure thoughts.

Harry swallows, eyes sweeping over Louis’s body. Louis flushes down to his chest and turns away, grabbing for his black jeans and pulling them on hastily. They definitely do not have the time or the emotional capacity to have their first sexual encounter right here in Liam’s mom’s bathroom, and Harry seems to agree; Louis can hear him scrambling to get dressed somewhere over his shoulder, and in a matter of seconds, they’re both ready to go, turning back to face each other quickly.

Harry makes to rush out of the bathroom, but Louis’s in the way of the door, and he catches Harry around the waist as Harry tries to scoot past him. Harry slows easily, melting into Louis’s chest again, and Louis kisses his hair.

“If we don’t get another moment alone before the show,” Louis says, voice low, “I just want to tell you: I’m proud of you, Harry. So fucking proud.”

Harry sighs like a popped tire, stretching up to kiss Louis’s lips for a long, tender moment. “I’m proud of you,” Harry echoes. “No matter what happens. I’ll never not be proud of you.”

Louis beams, kissing Harry’s lips once more. He catches sight of the two of them in the mirror over Harry’s shoulder, and nudges Harry to turn around, to look. They’re almost perfectly matching, except that Harry’s wearing a white t-shirt instead of a polo, and Louis’s got his blazer open where Harry’s got one button done in the middle to hold it closed around his waist. Harry smiles at their reflection, leans in to kiss Louis’s cheek, and then drags him out of the bathroom and back down to the garage, where the others are waiting.

“Finally,” Niall says, checking his wrist for the time, even though he’s not wearing a watch. Louis rolls his eyes. “It’s almost 4:30.”

“We don’t have to be there until 5,” Louis says.

“The show doesn’t even start until 6,” Harry says. 

“Right, but if we get there early, we can pick the perfect spot in the lineup,” Liam says.

“Smart,” Louis says regretfully.

“Which spot is the perfect spot?” Harry worries. “How do we know?”

“I think closer to the end, so we’ll be fresher in the judges’ memories, but not so close to the end that everyone is wishing the show would end already,” Niall says, whilst ushering the three of them back to Liam’s mom’s minivan, where she’s already waiting, flicking through the stations on the radio.

“Sounds good to me,” Liam says, climbing into the front seat while the others clamber into the back.

Niall and Liam aren’t as closely coordinated as Louis and Harry are, but they all picked out their outfits together at the mall last week, so they’ve at least got a theme; they’ve all got the same pair of black jeans, loose enough to be stylish but tight enough where it counts, and Niall and Liam are in the same collarless button up, only Niall’s is white, and Liam’s is black. They look sharp, a lot sharper than they did last year, in their uncoordinated street clothes. What _amateurs_ they were.

Once they arrive back at the school, everything goes by in a blur. They sign up for the ideal spot in the lineup, sixth from the end of about fifteen acts, and then they claim their ground in the darkened band room to practice their song a few more times. By the time they’ve got to go back to the stage to get ready for the show to begin, they’re feeling invincible, untouchable, completely fearless. Nothing could stop them now. They’re ready to win the world.

+

They come in third place again.

It’s a devastating blow to all of their egos, but Harry takes it the hardest, fully turning away when poor Mrs. Stapleton presents them with the pitiful yellow ribbon. Last year, third place was the best thing they could have asked for, but this year, even Louis feels it like a slap in the face, and Niall accepts the ribbon between this thumb and forefinger, like it’s something his cat has just killed and brought to him as a sickening declaration of love.

They’re not freshmen anymore. There’s no reason that they couldn’t have done better than third place other than that they weren’t good enough, they didn’t practice hard enough, they didn’t want it bad enough. Harry starts crying before they’re even all the way off the stage, and maybe it’s a silly thing to cry about, but Louis feels a little bit like crying, too.

“Hey,” Liam says, voice hoarse with disappointment. “At least we didn’t do _worse_ than we did last year.”

“Let’s have a bonfire tonight,” Niall says, still holding the offending ribbon, “and burn this.”

“We’re only sophomores,” Louis says, but it’s no use, even he doesn’t believe it.

“And a junior won second,” Liam says helpfully. “Honestly, Lana O’Donnell is an incredible singer.”

“It should’ve been us,” Harry says, voice low, thick. “We should’ve _won_.”

“There’s always next year,” Louis says, touching his shoulder gently. Harry flinches, which makes Louis flinch, which makes Niall and Liam flinch, too.

“My mom videotaped it,” Liam says. “Maybe we can watch it back, try and see where we could improve.”

“I need to go home,” Harry says, wiping angrily at his face. “My mom is here somewhere, I have to find her. Bye, guys,” he mutters, stalking off into the crowd. 

Louis feels like he’s going to disintegrate into the turf, especially when someone comes up behind him, shaking him by the shoulders and shouting into his ear.

“You did it!” Perrie’s shouting. Perrie is good at a lot of things, but reading a room is not one of them. 

“Did what?” Louis says bitterly. “Lost? Yeah, thanks for reminding me.”

“You didn’t lose,” Leigh-Anne says, tucking herself into Liam’s side. Liam hugs her weakly. 

“Third place is amazing!” Jade says. “Honestly, those freshmen with the rainsticks had me a little worried, but they didn’t even place.”

“Don’t be upset, guys, you absolutely killed it. The crowd cheered loudest for you, anyway, isn’t that what counts?” Perrie asks, wrapping her arms around Louis’s shoulders from behind and hanging onto him like a koala. “Where’s Harry?”

“I just saw him a minute ago, walking through the crowd,” Zayn says, ducking his head down to light the cigarette between his lips, like he doesn’t care a bit that there are teachers and adults all over the place. God, he’s so _cool_.

“He’s looking for his mom so he can go home,” Liam says. “He’s pretty upset.”

“Damn,” Perrie says, pushing up on her toes to glance around Louis’s shoulder at his face. “Are you okay?” she asks quietly.

Louis just shrugs, nudging her off of him and back toward Zayn. She goes easily, tucking herself into Zayn’s side against the cool June evening breeze. Louis’s heart is aching, and he doesn’t really want to be here anymore, either.

Once they’ve all found their parents and gone their separate ways, the hurt really starts to set in. Louis really thought they’d do better than third place, he really thought they might even break precedent and _win_ , and this is the worst feeling he can imagine. He can’t help but feel as though it’s his fault, his playing wasn’t good enough for such a piano-heavy song, and by the time he gets home and has locked himself away in his bedroom, his chest is so tight he can barely breathe.

He waits until everyone has gone to bed and then sneaks to the living room to get the landline, bringing it back to his room and settling under his covers. He calls Gemma’s private line, like Harry told him to do for emergencies, and Gemma answers on the third ring.

“Hello?” she chirps into the phone. She doesn’t sound tired at all, which means Louis didn’t wake her, which eases his guilt a little bit. 

“Hi, Gemma, it’s Louis,” he says quietly. “Is Harry awake?”

“Let me check,” Gemma says, and then there’s the rustle of her getting up, the sound of her door opening, three quiet knocks on Harry’s door. “No answer,” she says, and then another door closes, like she’s gone back to her own room.

“Fuck,” Louis sighs. “Can you wake him? I really need to talk to him.”

“He’s pretty upset,” Gemma says. “I thought you guys were incredible, and I don’t know why third place is so bad, but I don’t wanna disturb him right now because I’m pretty sure he’d rip me limb from limb, with the mood he’s in.”

Louis sighs again, rubbing at his face. “Okay, fair. Can you just let him know I called, though? And that I really need to talk to him?”

“Sure thing,” Gemma says. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Louis lies. “Everything’s fine. Goodnight, Gemma.”

“Night, Lou,” Gemma says, and then the line clicks dead.

Louis creeps back to the living room to put the phone back, and then sulks all the way back to bed. 

+

Harry goes three entire days without speaking to anyone, and by the end of the third day, Louis misses him so fiercely he can’t take it anymore.

He and Niall went to Liam’s house yesterday to watch the video Liam’s mom took, and Louis decided pretty quickly that it wasn’t his playing that cost them their rightful second place. Honestly, their performance was pretty much flawless, except for a tiny mishap with the lights halfway through, but that wasn’t even their fault.

Harry won’t answer the phone to be told that information, though, and as much as Louis pleads Gemma to get Harry to pick up the phone, she’s the least helpful person Louis’s dealt with in the past few weeks. He takes matters into his own hands, then, when day three with no contact from Harry draws to a close, the sun sinking down over the treeline and casting Whitfield in darkness. 

He waits until it’s properly late, nearly midnight, and then sneaks out his bedroom window, walking across the roof to the back deck, where he can safely jump down onto the ground. It’s about a fifteen minute walk to Harry’s house, but jogging, he makes it in ten, and then he scurries around the back of Harry’s house, delighted to find that his bedroom window is cracked open to let the cool air in.

He climbs up the bulkhead doors and jumps, barely catching the edge of Harry’s windowsill. He impresses even himself with his athleticism, somehow shimmying himself up and getting a better grip. Once he’s pulled himself up high enough to hook his elbows over the sill, he pushes the window as far open as he can manage, worming himself through the gap and easing himself down onto Harry’s carpet.

Harry’s asleep, curled up on his side in his bed in the corner. He looks so sweet, with the covers tucked all the way up over his shoulder, and Louis doesn’t even think before he’s kicking his shoes off, climbing right into bed with him and curling around him on top of the covers.

Harry startles awake, turning over quickly and making to sit up. Louis’s got an arm around his waist, though, and it prevents him from going very far, and he relaxes, anyway, when he realizes who’s in his bed. 

“Hey,” he says, turning over under Louis’s arm to face him. “What are you doing here?”

“I missed you,” Louis says, and then, when that sounds too sincere, “turd.”

Harry smiles, pulling on the covers so that Louis will shift and get under them properly. “Sorry,” he says, once Louis is settled.

“Are you still upset about the competition?” Louis asks, reaching up to push his fingers through Harry’s hair. “Because I watched the tape that Liam’s mom made, and it’s, like, perfect.”

“No,” Harry says, “I’m not really upset about that anymore, I don’t think.”

“Then what?” Louis frowns. “Why haven’t you spoken to anyone?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says, dropping his gaze to look at Louis’s chin instead of his eyes. “It’s just, like, everything.”

“What do you mean?” Louis asks.

Harry shrugs. “Do you ever just wanna, like, run away, and get away from everything?” he asks quietly.

“No,” Louis says, brows coming together quickly. “Why? Do you feel like that?”

“Wouldn’t it just be easier if we could be somewhere else?” Harry says. “Like, Whitfield sucks so much, and I love you, but I wanna just, I don’t know, not be here anymore,” he says. 

Louis’s brain short circuits, ignoring everything Harry just said except for the bit in the middle. “You love me?” he asks.

Harry flushes, like he didn’t realize he’d said that until Louis pointed it out. “I—well, yeah, maybe,” he stutters. “I mean, yeah, of course I do. Right?”

“Like, as in, you _love me_ love me?” Louis asks.

“I think so,” Harry says. Louis ponders it for a moment, chewing on his lip, and Harry must take it as reluctance, because he carries on. “I mean, I’ve never loved anyone before, so I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like, but I’ve also never felt this way about anyone else, so, y’know, there’s gotta be a connection there, right?”

Louis can’t help but smile, watching Harry’s eyes sparkle. “How analytical,” he hums.

“Can you shut the fuck up,” Harry smiles back, “and say you love me too?”

Louis inches forward, kissing Harry’s lips gently. “I love you too,” he echoes.

Harry’s smile grows, and before Louis knows it, he’s on his back with Harry resting on top of him, head pillowed on his chest. The concerning bits of their previous conversation linger somewhere up near Harry’s quick-moving ceiling fan, but it’s too dark up there to see right now, so Louis forgets all about them. He falls asleep like that, with Harry curled up on top of him, fingers tangled in Harry’s hair.

+

Louis’s been dealing with the likes of Parker King for most of his life now, which is why it really shouldn’t come as a surprise to him anymore when he’s at his locker, minding his own business, and someone comes up behind him and grabs him by the back of his shirt. Louis hollers, grabbing at his locker door to impede the person trying to drag him off down the hallway to probably, like, kill him, or something, but his assailant slams his locker door shut and keeps pulling him.

“Stop fighting me,” Niall’s voice says, and Louis frowns, squirming around to look up at him.

“Niall? What the hell?”

“We have an emergency,” Niall says, grabbing Harry by his belt loop on their way past his locker and dragging him along, too.

“Hey!” Harry shrieks, scrambling to close his locker door as Niall drags him away from it.

“No time,” Niall says, voice low.

“What’s going on?” Louis asks. “Where are we going?”

The first bell rings, and the hallway gets a bit frenzied as all the kids rush from their lockers to their first period classes. Niall doesn’t say a word, just drags them into the stairwell and down to the first floor, almost to the very front of the school. Second bell rings, and the whole school quiets as first period starts, and Niall finally brings them to a halt in front of the bathrooms hidden away behind the art classrooms.

“What are we doing?” Harry asks, looking nervously at Louis. 

“I think Niall’s finally gonna kill us,” Louis says gravely.

“Shut up,” Niall mutters, knocking a simple pattern on the boy’s room door. Louis throws one more look at Harry, and then there’s the quiet click of the door unlocking. Niall turns to face them, finally, and lowers his voice even more when he says, “Liam got dumped this morning.”

“What?” Harry says, much too loudly.

“Shh!” Niall all but slaps his hand over Harry’s mouth, except for the fact that Harry does it himself.

“Seriously?” Louis whispers. “Leigh-Anne dumped him?”

“Yeah, I was there,” Niall says. “It was brutal.”

“Holy shit,” Louis says, biting down on the inside of his cheek as Niall turns his back to them again and pushes the bathroom door open. 

“Hey, Li,” Niall says, peeking his head through the door. “I brought Louis and Harry.”

“Great, just what I need,” Liam’s voice says, miserably, from the depths of the bathroom. “A couple that will never break up.”

Harry glances at Louis, and Louis smiles, nudging the back of Harry’s hand with his own.

“Can we come in?” Niall asks, and he must receive an affirmation, because a second later he grabs Louis and shoves him through the door, followed quickly by Harry, who rams straight into Louis’s back.

“Hey,” Louis says, spotting Liam curled up on the floor by sinks. This bathroom is probably the cleanest in the school, given the fact that almost nobody uses it, but Louis still cringes as he walks over to sit down beside him.

“Hi,” Liam says, face buried in his knees.

“Doin’ okay?” Louis asks.

“No,” Liam says.

“Fair enough,” Louis says. “Wanna talk about it?”

“I should have seen it coming,” Liam says. “She’s been so, like, weird lately.”

“You guys have been together forever,” Harry says, sitting down in front of Liam and folding his legs in front of himself. 

“Yeah,” Liam sniffles, resting his chin on his knees. “I don’t know what to do.”

“What happened?” Louis asks gently.

“I don’t know,” Liam says. “I asked her what we were going to do on Halloween, and she said _she_ was going to Jesy’s cousin’s party, just like that, and I asked if I could come with, and she said she didn’t know if I was invited and I said, well, how big’s the party going to be? But instead of answering she just said she thought we should break up.”

“What the hell?” Harry says.

“She didn’t say why?” Louis asks.

“She just doesn’t want to date me anymore, I guess,” Liam says, eyes filling with tears.

“She was heartless about it,” Niall says, leaning against the sinks a couple feet away. “It was awful. What a bitch.”

“Maybe she’s going through something,” Harry frowns.

“Yeah, there’s got to be a reason,” Louis says. “You don’t just end a relationship of five years for no reason.”

“Six years, eight weeks, and three days,” Liam says. 

“I have Pre-Calc second period with Perrie and Jade,” Louis says, “I’ll see if they know anything.”

“And we can have our own Halloween party,” Harry says. Niall lights up behind him.

“Yes!” Niall says. “Oh my God, it’ll be great. We can get beer and candy and watch scary movies, and—”

“I don’t want to do anything for Halloween,” Liam says, burying his face between his knees again.

“Well, Liam, that sucks, because we’re using your basement for our party,” Louis says.

“I’m already drafting an email to Greg,” Niall says. 

“C’mon, Li, it’ll be fun,” Harry says, reaching out to squeeze Liam’s knee.

Liam takes a deep breath in, and then sighs. “Fine.”

+

It’s not even 10:30, but Louis feels like if he tried to stand up right now, his head might just spin right off his shoulders and through the ceiling of Liam’s basement. Niall’s brother really hooked them up, got them way more than just beer, and tonight they’ve all learned a very important lesson: Budweiser and flavored vodka are not friends.

They’re all the kind of drunk that makes them feel like zombies, like they’re all sitting about two feet from the left of their physical bodies, looking at each other through a hazy mist. They’re halfway through Jeepers Creepers 2 and Louis can’t keep his eyes open for a second longer, so he moves to curl into Harry’s side, resting his head in the curve between Harry’s shoulder and neck.

He doesn’t fall asleep right away, mostly because his head is spinning even more now that he’s got his eyes closed, but he’s just slightly too far away to react when someone starts speaking.

“Guys,” Liam is saying, over and over, like each time he says it, he immediately forgets, and has to begin again. “Promise me,” he says, once he’s absolutely sure he’s gained everyone’s attention. “Promise me we’re always gonna be friends.”

“I promise,” Niall says.

“Always,” Harry adds, quietly, like he thinks Louis’s asleep beside him.

Louis doesn’t manage to voice his agreement, but he definitely thinks it, and then Harry’s got a hand in his hair, petting down the back of his neck and all the way down his spine, and it centers Louis just enough so that he thinks maybe he actually could fall asleep like this.

“How do you guys do it?” Liam’s voice says after a little while, right before Louis’s about to surrender to the sleep adding to the alcohol cloud in his brain. 

“Do what?” Harry’s voice says next.

“Everything,” Liam says. “Like, you’ve known each other for sixteen years, and you’re still, y’know, like _that_. Leigh-Anne and I were together for six years, and she already got sick of me. How do you, like, make it work?” he asks.

“We don’t make anything work,” Harry says softly. “It just, I don’t know, does.”

“C’mon, Liam,” Niall says. “You and Leigh-Anne have been together forever, you really don’t think the two of you will get back together?”

“I don’t know,” Liam says. “I really don’t know.”

A gentle pair of lips press against the top of Louis’s head, and then Harry speaks, even softer than before. “I think that, like, when you know, you know,” he says.

“What does that mean?” Liam asks. 

“I mean, I’ve known Louis was the person I was gonna spend my life with since I was old enough to have thoughts,” Harry says.

“No way that’s true,” Liam says in wonderment.

“Yeah,” Harry says, “but it is. And the only way we’re ever getting separated is if one of us dies.”

“Don’t say that, please,” Niall says. “No one here is allowed to die.”

“You really think you and Louis are going to be together forever?” Liam asks, but he doesn’t sound the least bit doubtful.

Harry’s quiet for a minute, and Louis does everything in his power to keep pretending he’s asleep despite the fact that he wants to jump out of his very skin. “We already have been,” Harry says.

The conversation peters out before long, but Louis doesn’t stop thinking about it until long after the sound of the movie has been replaced by the menu screen music playing over and over. _Forever, forever, forever_ , his brain is screaming, and his body feels like it's glowing, especially when Harry shifts to curl around him fully, draping his legs across Louis’s lap and falling asleep with his face in Louis’s hair.

Louis falls asleep like that, too, after a while, once his mind finally settles down. He’s not terribly comfortable, and Harry’s kind of squashing him in this position, but sleeping is never easier than it is with Harry next to him, and to think, he gets to keep this _forever_.

+

Harry’s been to Louis’s house millions of times, probably, has grown up here almost as much as Louis has, but somehow he’s never looked so out of place in this living room before, his pigeon-toed feet looking much too large for the same old cream colored carpet Louis’s seen every day of his life. Louis’s been begging him to do this for weeks now, but it’s like Harry’s anxiety is seeping into Louis’s body, as well, and he can’t look up from the floor.

“Alright, boys,” Louis’s mom says, plopping down on the couch with her tea in hand. “I’m all ears, what did you want to talk about?”

Harry’s birthday was last week, and they celebrated in Liam’s basement, all eight of them, and Louis didn’t get a second of alone time with the birthday boy to show him how truly loved he is. Now that Valentine’s day is approaching, Louis’s got it in his head that he’s going to make Harry a fancy dinner to celebrate, and he figures that in order for that to happen, at least one of their moms needs to know about them so that they can have access to a kitchen without being, like, _really_ sketchy about it. Louis’s been wanting to tell his mom forever, because he tells his mom everything, but this finally feels like the perfect chance to get the ball rolling until eventually they can come out to everyone.

“Um,” Louis says, glancing up at Harry’s face. “We have to tell you something.”

Harry’s already blushing, but he goes even redder, fixing his eyes on the carpet and swallowing hard.

“Oh?” Louis’s mom says, a little nervously. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, and then he reaches out and curls his arm around Harry’s waist, drawing him into his side. “We’re— um, we’re together.”

Louis’s mom blinks, and then smiles confusedly. “What?”

“We’re dating,” Louis says, a little too quickly. “Each other.”

Harry is trembling against Louis’s side, and Louis squeezes him a little tighter to calm him, watching his mom carefully. She cocks her head a little as the news settles in, and then she looks up at Harry, as if in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Harry says, barely a whisper.

For half a second, Louis thinks his mom is going to yell at them, or she’s going to call Harry’s mom, or something, and they’re both going to be in so much trouble. Oh no, Louis thinks, Harry was right, this was such a bad idea, they never should’ve told anyone—

Louis’s mom looks back toward her own son after a minute, pursing her lips. Louis sets his jaw and pulls Harry into his side, and Harry folds into him, turning his face into Louis’s neck like he can’t bear the suspense any longer.

“Oh my god,” Louis’s mom says, quietly, after the longest minute of Louis’s life.

“Please don’t be mad,” Louis says, voice shaking.

“Mad?” his mom says, standing up off the couch quickly.

“I love him, mom,” Louis says, taking a step back and pulling Harry with him, as if he’s ready to run if he has to, and he’s taking Harry with him. He will always take Harry with him, no matter what.

His mom’s eyes fill up with tears, and Louis falters. He digs his fingers into Harry’s hip, but when his mom takes another step forward, Louis doesn’t back away, and then his mom is wrapping her arms around the both of them, pressing her face into his hair.

“I can’t believe it,” she says, voice thick with emotion. “Oh, my boys.”

Louis smiles, pulling Harry even closer and wrapping his free arm around his mom. She pulls away after a minute and goes for Harry first, cupping his cheeks and grinning at him. “Did you know your mom and I used to conspire as children that we’d grow up and have kids at the same time so that our kids would marry each other?” she asks, giddy.

Harry blanches, and Louis clears his throat. “Mom,” he says through gritted teeth, “we’re _seventeen_.”

“I know, I know,” his mom says, releasing Harry and touching her own face, instead. “But if seventeen-year-old Anne and I could see this right now,” she says, shaking her head. “Does she know yet?”

Harry goes even paler than he was before, and he turns to Louis quickly.

“Um, no, not yet,” Louis says.

“I’m not ready for her to know,” Harry says desperately, turning back to Louis’s mom.

Louis’s mom sobers up quickly, nodding solemnly. “Okay, okay, your secret is safe with me,” she says. “I won’t tell her, but it will be _very_ hard to do so, so please don’t wait too long,” she says.

“I almost had to beg to tell you, so, no promises,” Louis says, smiling teasingly at Harry.

“Fuck’s sake,” Louis’s mom says, rubbing at her face a little. “Okay, fine, I promise I won’t tell anyone in the world,” she says, giving Harry a comforting smile and reaching out to tweak his hair. Harry almost manages a smile in return, but it still looks pained. “But,” Louis’s mom says after a minute, frowning, “no more sleepovers in this house, I think.”

Louis lets out a startled laugh, but Harry looks absolutely mortified. Louis presses close to his side, pecking at his cheek in an attempt to get him to loosen up, but Harry just sort of folds against him and stays silent.

“So, tell me everything,” Louis’s mom says, plopping back down on the couch. “How long has this been going on?”

Harry gets even more awkward, somehow, looking up at Louis like he’s going to faint. Louis can’t find it in himself to notice, though; it feels so fucking good to tell someone all of this after so, so long, Louis isn’t ready to stop talking about it. 

“Since the summer after freshman year,” he admits, smiling shyly at his mom.

“Are you kidding me!” his mom says, laughing brightly. “No chance you’ve been dating that long and I haven’t noticed.”

Harry swallows hard, leaning in close to Louis’s ear. “Stop,” he breathes.

“You seriously had no idea?” Louis chuckles, slipping his hand up the back of Harry’s shirt to trace over his skin, trying to get him to calm down and ease up.

“I mean, I thought your relationship was peculiar, but it always has been,” Louis’s mom shrugs. “Like, what three-year-old tells his friend that he loves him on the phone?” she says.

“A three-year-old that’s gonna grow up to fall completely in love with that friend,” Louis says, finally turning fully to look at Harry. Harry looks conflicted, halfway between bolting and kissing Louis’s lights out, and Louis tries to meet his eyes, to no avail.

Louis’s mom doesn’t seem to notice, too busy swooning over the two of them. “Okay,” she says, getting up off the couch and grabbing her untouched cup of tea. “I’m gonna fucking cry, I think, so I’m gonna go take a bath and try to process this,” she says, already heading for the stairs. “But don’t disappear, okay?” she says. “I have more questions!”

With that, she’s gone, and Louis reaches for Harry’s hips, but Harry’s already pulling away.

“I’m gonna go home,” Harry says, voice low.

“What?” Louis asks, refusing to fully let go of him. ”Why? She said not to disappear, she has more questions,” he says, laughing a little, giddy at his mom’s giddiness.

When Harry turns to look at him, he looks sick, and the smile drops from Louis’s face. “You can answer them yourself, clearly,” Harry says.

“Wait, what?” Louis asks, finally letting his hands fall when Harry tugs away again.

“Whatever,” Harry mutters. “I’m going home.”

Louis grabs his hand before he can get very far, pulling him to a stop. “Wait, stop,” he begs. ‘Why are you mad?”

“Because I didn’t want to fucking tell her in the first place, and I didn’t know it was going to turn into a fucking tell-all,” Harry bites out.

“It’s fine!” Louis says. “It’s not like she’s mad at us, or anything! She’s happy!”

“It doesn’t make a difference,” Harry says. “I dont feel comfortable telling her every fucking detail.”

“She doesn’t know every fucking detail, Harry, she just knows that her only son is in a relationship of two and a half years, is that so fucking personal?” Louis says, heart sinking.

“I just don’t want people in our business,” Harry says.

“What fucking business, Harry?” Louis scoffs. “I don’t get why it’s so fucking deep that people should know that we—”

“Forget it,” Harry cuts him off. “I’m going home.”

“Why are you ashamed of me?” Louis asks, voice much too loud, and Harry stops dead in his tracks, turning around slowly.

“What?” Harry asks, voice breaking.

“Clearly you are, because why the fuck would this be such a big deal otherwise,” Louis says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Because I just want to keep you all to myself,” Harry says, taking two steps toward Louis again, away from the door. “I don’t want to tell people because I don't want to share you,” he admits.

“You don’t want to share me with my _fucking mom_?” Louis growls.

“You know what I mean,” Harry says lowly.

“I really don’t!” Louis scoffs.

“I liked it better when this was a secret!” Harry explodes, the sudden volume of his voice scaring Louis nearly out of his socks. Louis doesn’t think he’s ever heard Harry yell like this, but Harry looks livid, nostrils flaring. “And no one knew but us! It was just _ours_! But now the more people we let in, the more pressure there is and is fucking _scary_!” he shouts.

Louis blinks, resisting the urge to cry. “What the fuck do you mean pressure?” he asks. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says, sighing and running a hand through his hair. He’s done yelling, apparently, but he still looks terribly upset. “Just— people always expecting us to be in love,” he says.

Louis pauses, and if he didn’t know better, he would swear the roof was crumbling over his head. “Aren’t we in love, though?” he squeaks out.

“Well, yeah, but—” Harry scoffs, shaking his head.

“I’m gonna need you to be perfectly fucking clear with me right now, Harry, because it sounds like you’re trying to tell me that you’re not in love with me,” Louis says, voice wavering despite his every attempt to keep it steady.

“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” Harry says quickly. “I’m just saying, it gets harder when people constantly expect you to act like you’re in love.”

“Okay, but why are you fucking _acting_?” Louis spits.

“You’re telling me all the times you hold my hand or cuddle up to me in front of our friends, it’s because you actually want to do those things? And not just because you want them to _see_ you doing it?”

Louis feels his heart break right in his chest, and he knows it shows on his face. “You’re telling me that when you do those things it's because you think people are looking and not because you don’t care if they are?”

Harry hesitates, closes his mouth, and looks down. 

“Y’know what,” Louis says, voice catching in his throat. “I think maybe you should go home, after all.”

“Lou,” Harry says, broken.

“Don’t worry,” Louis says, already backing away. “I wont tell any more of your precious secrets, and you can stop acting, or whatever.”

He turns and walks away without another word, marching straight up the stairs. He manages to keep himself together until he gets to the second floor landing, where his mom is standing, looking absolutely horrified. She never made it to the bath, apparently, before Louis and Harry started yelling, and Louis’s never been so grateful for a pair of arms to sink into when he inevitably breaks down.

She sits him down right there in the hallway and holds him, lets him cry for as long as he needs to. She keeps petting his hair, telling him it’s going to be okay; Harry must leave, at some point, because for as long as Louis and his mom sit there at the top of the stairs, Harry never comes after him.

+

Louis stopped taking the bus in junior year when it stopped being free, and now his mom drives him and his hoard of younger siblings to school every morning, which Louis has never been so happy about. He’s absolutely dreading seeing Harry in third period drama, and that’s still over three hours away, but he can’t stop thinking about it. They’ve never had a fight this big, not even that time they fought in fifth grade, because at least that time Louis didn’t have to walk around with the pieces of his heart jangling like loose change in his chest and pretend everything was okay.

He barely gets all the way to his locker before Perrie barrels into him, hugging him so tight she nearly squeezes the wind out of him.

“Hello?” Louis wheezes, but Perrie doesn’t let go, digging her face into his neck.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, and she sounds it, but Louis can’t imagine what for. “I just heard, Lou, I’m so, so sorry. Why didn’t you call me?” she asks.

Something terrible must have happened, Louis thinks, his heart sinking when Perrie finally pulls away to look at him.

“What?” he asks gravely.

“He just told me the whole thing, Lou,” Perrie says, pouting miserably. “But if it makes you feel any better, he’s an absolute mess over it.”

“Honest to god, Perrie, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Louis admits.

Perrie frowns, giving him a look. “You… you broke up with Harry?” she prompts.

“I did _what_?” Louis splutters.

Perrie shakes her head, looking mortified. “I’m so confused,” she says.

“Same?” Louis says, laughing humorlessly and rubbing at his face. “We had a fight,” he says, “but we didn’t break up.”

“Uh,” Perrie says, “I don’t think he knows that.”

Louis blinks at her once, and then turns on his heel, taking off down the hallway. The first bell rings, but he ignores it, turning the corner so fast he nearly wipes out in his effort to get to Harry before Harry can spend another second thinking that Louis broke up with him.

Perrie was right: Harry looks an absolute mess. His hair is straight and greasy, eyes red and swollen, and his face is blotchy like he’s only just recently stopped crying, but his mouth is tight like he might start again at any moment. He looks up and spots Louis coming before Louis can get to him, and he goes pale, turning away like he’s going to try and disappear into the crowd before Louis can yell at him, or something, in front of everyone.

“Hey,” Louis says, catching his elbow before he can get far and pulling him back to the wall of lockers.

Harry swallows hard, not quite meeting Louis’s eye. “Hi.”

“We didn’t fucking break up,” Louis says, getting close enough to Harry so that no one else will hear him.

Harry flinches, eyes going wide. “What?”

“We didn’t break up, you idiot,” Louis says, shoving at Harry’s shoulder. “We had a fight.”

“But you said I could stop acting,” Harry says, a mixture of horrified and confused.

“You are doing yourself absolutely no favors right now,” Louis says lowly.

“I thought that meant you were done with me,” Harry says, lips turning down at the corners like he’s going to cry at the thought. “I thought you meant you didn’t want to be with me anymore.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Louis says. “I was just so upset with you.”

“Then what did you mean?” Harry asks.

Louis looks around to make sure no one’s listening, but the hallway is pretty busy with everyone rushing to their first class, and the buzz of conversation is loud enough that Louis doesn’t really need to pull Harry any closer than he already is, but he does it anyway, pressing Harry against the lockers and crowding into his space. “I meant that I don’t want you to feel like you have to act any certain way in front of anyone,” he says. “I don’t want you to do that. Like, it makes me feel like shit that you don’t actually want to hold my hand or cuddle me in front of people, but if it makes you uncomfortable, then you don’t have to do it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and I’m sorry I did. And I’m sorry I told my mom, and we don’t ever have to tell anyone ever again if you dont wanna,” he says, all in a rush.

“Wait, wait, wait, who said I don’t like holding your hand?” Harry frowns.

Louis blinks. “You?” he says. “You— literally did?”

“No I fucking didn’t,” Harry hisses.

“You said that when you do that shit in front of our friends, it’s performative,” Louis says.

“Well, it is, but it’s not that I _don’t_ wanna do it,” Harry says.

“I’m so fucking confused right now, Harry,” Louis says, rubbing tiredly at his face.

“I love holding your hand,” Harry whispers, “all the time, and cuddling you whenever, but I desperately just want this relationship to be ours, and only ours.”

Louis is quiet for a minute, trying to understand, but it’s like Harry’s words just don’t make any sense. “Isn’t it?” he sighs. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, nudging Louis’s hip gently with his knuckles. “And that’s why I don’t want anything to change.”

It still doesn’t really make any sense in Louis’s head, but then Harry hugs him, and that’s more than he’s ever done in school, so Louis decides to just take what he can get, holding Harry close while the throng of people around them begins to dwindle.

“I love you,” Harry breathes, right into Louis’s ear, and Louis shivers all over.

“I love you, too,” Louis says, pressing his face into Harry’s neck for a moment.

Harry pulls away grinning, looking down and fixing his shirt. “I’m glad we’re not broken up,” he admits quietly.

“Yeah, me too,” Louis says. 

They’re going to have to talk about it, at some point, about Harry’s crushing fear of anyone knowing about their relationship, but Louis supposes they have a lifetime to figure it out, after all, and at the end of the day, anything is better than losing Harry.

+

They finish junior year with the highest high any of them could have ever asked for: second place in the talent competition. It’s not first, of course, but it’s also not third, and at this point, second place seems like an absolute dream. A senior group won first place, of course, but everyone at the show, including the winning group, knew that Fearless really should have won. They knew better than to hope for that, and it paid off; _second place_. 

They’re throwing a party at Liam’s house to celebrate, since his mom is away for the weekend with her boyfriend and Liam’s sisters are _just_ cool enough to allow a whole mess of rising seniors to take over the backyard. The party’s a lot bigger than anything they’ve ever thrown before, way bigger than just the eight of them, but the vast majority of the people filling up the space in Liam’s backyard are just trying to get close to Harry.

Louis was expecting this, honestly, and he’s trying his absolute hardest not to be upset about it. He should be used to it by now, probably, the girls that flock around his boyfriend, touching his hair and his cheeks and his chest, putting their numbers in his flip phone and leaving sticky lip gloss prints on his skin. Unsurprisingly, this is completely impossible to get used to, and Louis remains bitter on the edge of the porch, gripping the can of beer in his fist so tightly that the aluminum cracks and he has to awkwardly suck down the rest of the drink before it can make too much of a mess.

He’s not even trying to intervene, not tonight. He’s been doing his best to keep his distance from Harry in public since the fight they had before Valentine’s day, but the thing is, it doesn’t seem to be making either of them any happier or more at ease. Even now, as Louis’s tensing every muscle in his body on a plastic lawn chair at the patio table watching Harry dancing awkwardly in the grass with what appears to be half the school population trying to get closer to him, their eyes are locked on each other, silently begging each other to be the first to break and come running back. Louis’s not going to be the first to break, though, not this time; every time he goes running to Harry’s side to offer help that Harry apparently doesn’t need or want, they fight about it, so this time, Louis’s going to hold strong, no matter how many times Harry nods to him, inviting him out onto the dancefloor, the last place Louis wants to be.

He was going to try to pace himself tonight, but his first two beers and the rushed third one are starting to hit him, now, and he can’t really remember why he was going to pace himself in the first place. He gets up to get another beer from the cooler, and then he spots Perrie and the others near the corner of the deck, so he shuffles over to worm his way into their conversation.

“Hi, superstar,” Perrie says, petting at Louis’s head. “Having fun?”

“No,” Louis huffs. “Why won’t Harry tell those girls to fuck off?”

“What girls?” Perrie frowns, stretching up on her toes to have a look.

“Because he’s a gentleman,” Jade pipes up, “unlike some people.” Louis gives her a sour look.

“C’mon it’s not that big a deal,” Perrie says, bumping Louis’s shoulder. “He loves you so much. And look how uncomfortable he is,” she says, pointing to Harry’s head bobbing stiffly in the middle of the throng.

“It still just pisses me off,” Louis says, cracking open his new beer and taking a sip.

“He’s gay anyway, Louis, its not like he’s enjoying this,” Perrie says.

“So it’s fine if girls hang all over him all the time? Because he’s actually secretly gay?” Louis says.

Perrie shrugs, but she looks unsure.

“Okay,” Louis hums, eyes settling on Zayn. “How does this make you feel?” he asks, handing Perrie his beer and latching onto Zayn, wrapping himself around him the way some girl is currently wrapped around Harry, arms around his shoulders, chest pressed to Zayn’s back.

“I’m fine,” Perrie says, stealing a sip of Louis’s beer.

Louis touches Zayn’s face, smoothing his fingers over his cheek and then tracing over his lips. His lips are really soft, and he smirks under Louis’s fingers and, god, Louis’s so gay. “Really?” he asks, leaning a little further into Zayn’s space, like he’s going to kiss at his neck.

“Grope him all you want,” Perrie says, smug. “I’m secure in my relationship.”

“Uh,” Zayn says, shoulders tensing against Louis’s grip. “Can I have a say in this?”

Louis sighs and pulls away, shoving Zayn a little and grabbing his beer back from Perrie. She’s gotten pink lipstick all over the rim, and Louis wipes it angrily on his shirtsleeve, because _lipstick_ is the last thing he wants to think about right now.

Perrie grins and takes her man back, kissing him square on the mouth and giggling against his lips. Louis deflates, putting his beer down on the railing of the deck. “Yeah,” he says quietly, nodding to Perrie and Zayn. “See, that’s where it’s different for me. I can’t just walk up and kiss him in front of all those girls.”

“Why can’t you?” Perrie asks.

“Yeah, just go over there and suck his face, and they’ll all leave him alone,” Jesy says.

“He won’t let me,” Louis says, crossing his arms over his chest and glancing back out at the yard.

“You don’t actually think he’s having fun over there, do you?” Jade says.

“No, I know he isn’t, but he won’t let me kiss him in public or anything like that. He’s mad that even you guys know about us,” Louis admits. 

“Wait, what?” Perrie says.

“Seriously?” Jesy says.

“Well, like, when we came out to my mom a few months ago, we had this huge fight about people knowing about us, and now I don’t even try anymore because I know he doesn’t want anyone to know,” Louis says.

“That’s kinda fucked up,” Perrie says.

“Well, if he doesn’t want to come out, you can’t force him,” Jade says.

“I’m not trying to force him, that’s why I’m fucking standing here watching that girl touch his ass right now,” Louis grumbles.

“Have you talked to him about why he doesn’t tell those girls to fuck off?” Leigh-Anne asks.

“Not really,” Louis says. “But, whatever. It’s good for the band, I guess.”

The girls all pout at him as if on cue, and Louis thinks distantly that they should start a band of their own, the four of them.

“You can borrow Zayn for the night, if you want,” Perrie says, pushing Zayn toward Louis gently.

Zayn shrugs, looking Louis up and down. “Yeah, bro, I’ll kiss you on the dance floor if you want,” he says.

Louis smiles, shaking his head. “Thanks guys,” he says, “but I think I’m just gonna go.”

“No!” Perrie says, immediately distraught.

“This is your party!” Leigh-Anne says.

“It’s his party,” Louis says, nodding toward Harry on the grass.

Harry’s watching him, eyes already glued on him when Louis looks over, even though some girl is whispering in his ear, fingernails digging into his shoulders. Louis just looks down, hurt settling in his chest, and sighs lowly.

“Bye, guys,” he mutters, accepting a few hugs and pats on the back before he slips away, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he steps down off the deck and starts making his way around the front of Liam’s house. It’s kind of a long walk home, but he doesn’t feel terribly okay about driving right now and, anyway, the fresh air might be kind of nice right now. He makes it all the way to the driveway, just past the walkway to Liam’s front door when someone catches his arms, dragging him back toward the house.

Louis’s just about to start screaming when a pair of lips covers his own and, oh, he’d know those lips anywhere. He melts a little, lets Harry press him back against the clapboard siding of Louis’s house, and determinedly does not follow his instinct to reach up and cup Harry’s cheeks, because he has no interest in discovering how much lip gloss he’ll find there.

“Where are you going?” Harry asks as he pulls away. 

“Home,” Louis says.

Harry looks devastated, nudging his nose against Louis’s and then tugging him into his arms. Louis goes easily, folding into Harry’s chest like second nature, and Harry smells more like sweat than anything else at the moment, which Louis notes with satisfaction.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, speaking into Louis’s neck. “I know you hate it when girls talk to me, but I don’t know how to tell them to go away without being rude,” he says quietly.

“I have a few ideas,” Louis mutters, “but you won’t go for them.”

Harry pulls away a little, and his eyes get sad. “I’m sorry,” he breathes.

“It’s fine,” Louis says, and he really, _really_ wants to mean it. “Enjoy the party, seriously. I’m gonna head home.”

“No,” Harry says, clinging to Louis’s arm before Louis can even think about walking away again. “Don’t leave, please don’t leave,” he pleads.

“I’m tired,” Louis lies, looking down.

“Then I’ll come with you,” Harry says. “Or I’ll drive you, at least, if you want?”

“Won’t your groupies miss you?” Louis says, but there’s no bite in it. It sounds sad. He is rather sad, he guesses.

Harry chuckles, kissing him once more. “You’re the only groupie I care about,” he says, breathing it against Louis’s lips like it’s some sexy thing, but it turns the slow drip of sadness in Louis’s blood and sets it boiling, instead.

Louis shoves him, reveling in the shocked look on Harry’s face. “I’m your fucking _bandmate_ , not your groupie,” he spits. “And I’m also your fucking boyfriend, but you’d never know either of those things by looking at us,” he says.

Harry swallows hard, face going so red that Louis can see it even in the dim light barely reaching them from the streetlamps. Louis rolls his eyes, making to push past him, but Harry blocks his path, pinning him back against the house again. 

“How many times are we going to have this fight,” Harry says, fingertips crushing into Louis’s biceps so hard Louis’s probably going to wake up with bruises. Louis hopes to hell he doesn’t.

“I don’t know,” Louis hisses, “you tell me.”

Harry drops his forehead against Louis’s chest, grip going loose. Louis lets his head drop back against the house and he closes his eyes, bringing one suddenly shaking hand up to comb through Harry’s hair.

“Please stay,” Harry says. “One more hour, Lou, and then we can leave and do whatever you want to do,” he says.

“Will you dance with me?” Louis asks. “Will you at least talk to me?”

“I won’t leave your side,” Harry says, looking up quickly. “I promise,” he says, locking his pinkie with Louis’s.

Louis smiles, finally, pushing Harry away with much less heat, this time. “Whatever,” he says, and Harry kisses him one more time, lacing their fingers together and dragging Louis back around the house to the backyard. He drops Louis’s hand before they get there, of course, and Louis tries with everything in him to ignore it, even as Harry replaces his grip on Louis’s wrist and pulls him back up onto the deck, where Liam and Niall have now joined Zayn and the girls near the cooler.

“Louis!” Perrie says, grinning at him as soon as she spots him. “You’re back!”

“He tried to sneak out, but I caught him,” Harry says, bumping his hip against Louis’s. He doesn’t seem to notice the way no one really looks at him. “C’mon, guys, we’re gonna go dance,” he says, reaching for Liam and Niall and leading the way back off the deck, down to the grass with everyone else.

The girls follow eventually, and Louis allows himself to relax and enjoy it. Perrie convinces him to lose his shoes and the cool grass feels so good on his bare feet, and the music is loud and fast and Louis’s head is light and foggy with alcohol and he’s surrounded by all of his favorite people, even Harry, who, true to his word, does not leave his side for the next hour, at least. 

Louis does his best not to notice that Harry also doesn’t leave Liam’s side, or Niall’s, or Perrie’s or Zayn’s or Jade’s or Jesy’s or Leigh-Anne’s. He keeps them all close together, dancing as a group, even when the girls start spawning again, like the zombie NPCs in that stupid videogame Niall and Liam love so much. It’d be so much more fun, Louis thinks, if he could wrap his arms around Harry’s shoulders, kiss him on the mouth and laugh with him as they dance, the way they do when they’re alone. But they have forever, he reminds himself. They have forever for that.

+

The first day of senior year brings a level of power that Louis’s never known before. He can feel it from the moment he steps foot into the music and drama wing, can feel the freshmen watching him, looking up to him. This must be what Harry feels like on a daily basis, Louis thinks. He gets why Harry isn’t eager to turn the attention down. It’s sort of addicting.

They all feel it throughout the course of the day, the way the underclassmen look up to them suddenly. They’re still at the bottom of the food chain in the grand scheme of things; they’re still drama kids _and_ chorus kids, and, sure, maybe some of the more popular freshmen might hold a little higher social rank than they do, but by the time Louis gets to lunch on the first day of school, he feels akin to a king, taking his spot at the lunch table proudly.

“Good afternoon, ladies and men,” he says, pulling his lunchbox out of his backpack. “How’s senior year treating us so far?”

“AP Chemistry is fucking awful,” Leigh-Anne announces from the other end of the table. 

“Did you know seniors have to pay even more to take the bus now?” Niall says.

“Parker King flirted with me all through first period,” Jade says, face pale. “I think I’ll need to drop the class.”

“Sounds like we’re all living the dream, then,” Louis says cheerfully, smiling at Harry across the table from him and nudging Perrie’s shoulder beside him.

“I think Zayn’s going to break up with me,” Perrie announces, staring intensely down at the table. 

Everyone pauses. No one even breathes for a minute, maybe two minutes, and then Louis ducks his head a little closer to Perrie. “What?” he asks softly.

Perrie’s trying very hard to keep herself together, digging her manicured fingernails into her thigh under the table. Louis pries her hand out of its grip and holds it, and Perrie slumps against his chest.

“Y’know how he started his classes last week?” Perrie says. Louis nods. “He’s barely talked to me since.”

“He’s probably just busy,” Louis says.

“Yeah, definitely,” Jade says. “I hear the first week of college is the craziest.”

“I don’t know,” Perrie says, playing with Louis’s fingers. “We’ve never gone longer than, like, eight hours without at least texting, but he hasn’t answered my texts since Sunday. It’s _Wednesday_ , like, what’s he doing?”

“Maybe he forgot,” Harry says helpfully.

“I’ve texted him every day, called a bunch, too, and he won’t answer. I think I need to give up,” she says.

“Did you have a fight, or something?” Jesy asks.

“I’ll bet he’s— uh, actually, nevermind,” Niall mumbles.

“Me too,” Perrie says, meeting Niall’s eyes. “I think I know what you were gonna say.”

“Zayn would never,” Leigh-Anne says, getting up to come around the table, hugging Perrie from behind. She gets Louis in on it, too, and Louis rests his head on top of Perrie’s, feeling her breathing stutter where she’s leaning against him.

“I don’t know,” Perrie mutters.

Louis hates this. He hates seeing his strong, beautiful, independent Perrie reduced almost to tears, over a _boy_ , of all things. He could kill Zayn for doing this to her, but he’s also a little disappointed that Perrie’s letting him. Louis can’t imagine ever being this torn up about a couple of unanswered texts; if someone ever did that to him, he’d drop them like a hot potato. They’re clearly not worth it, if they can’t even text back, let alone answer a phone call, so he tells Perrie as much, earning himself a quiet whimper and a cold nose pressing into his throat.

“But I love him,” Perrie says miserably. 

“I know you do,” Leigh-Anne says, petting sweetly at Perrie’s hair. “But sometimes things don’t work out, and that’s okay.”

“You don’t need him, anyway,” Jesy says. “You’re, like, the hottest girl in this school, Pez. You could have any guy you want.”

“But I only want him,” Perrie whines. “I offered to take my mom’s car and drive all the way out to Boston this weekend, but he didn’t even answer.”

“Fuck him,” Louis says. “Seriously, just dump his ass.”

“Yeah, dump him before he can dump you,” Jesy says. “Then you can say that _you_ dumped a _college guy_.”

“That’ll make him sorry,” Liam pipes up. “Getting dumped sucks.”

Leigh-Anne shifts her weight awkwardly behind Perrie, and Louis shoots a glare at Liam.

“Maybe,” Perrie says, sitting up and hiding her face in her hands for a second. She hasn’t shed a tear, but she digs a compact out of her backpack, anyway, checking her makeup in the tiny mirror. “I don’t know. Thanks guys,” she says quietly.

Louis rubs her arm a little, and Perrie gives him a warm smile, leaning over to kiss his cheek. When Louis turns back to his lunchbox, still only half unzipped, he catches Harry glaring at him, but Harry looks away quickly, cheeks flushing. It makes Louis’s heart fall a little, but he doesn’t want to question Harry about it just yet, so he pretends not to have noticed, pulling his ham and cheese out of his lunchbox and nibbling at the edge of it. He’s not terribly hungry, suddenly. The whole Perrie and Zayn thing has his stomach feeling a little unsettled, and the way Harry keeps staring at him throughout the entirety of the lunch period is even more unsettling, and by the time the bell rings to signal passing time for fifth period, Louis’s wondering if senior year isn’t actually going to be all he was expecting it to be.

+

Louis drives Harry home from school, because Gemma took the car they share to college with her in Connecticut, and Harry would much rather get a ride with his boyfriend than spend an extra dollar on the bus fee. They’re quiet most of the way home, but Louis can’t stop thinking about lunch, about Perrie and Zayn and the way Harry wouldn’t stop glaring at him, so when they’re still a few minutes away from Harry’s house, he reaches over to hold Harry’s hand over the gear shift.

“Hey,” he says, lacing his fingers through Harry’s. “I love you.”

Harry’s quiet for a moment. “Love you,” he says, finally, staring out the window intently.

“Are you okay?” Louis asks. “You’ve been weird since lunch.”

“You haven’t seen me since lunch,” Harry says.

“You were weird _at_ lunch,” Louis says, “and you’re weird now. What’s up?”

“Did you mean what you said to Perrie?” Harry asks quietly.

Louis wracks his brain. “Which part?”

“That boys are nothing to cry about,” Harry says. “That you’d rather dump a boy than cry about him.”

Louis doesn’t remember saying that in so many words, but the sentiment rings true, he guesses. “I mean, yeah,” he says. “If someone was treating me the way Zayn’s treating her, I wouldn’t be too pressed to stick around,” he shrugs.

“You wouldn’t be upset about it?” Harry asks.

“I mean, I would, probably,” Louis says. “Like, if it was _you_ treating me like that, I’d be fucking crushed. But I don’t think I’d let you get away with it, y’know?”

Harry’s quiet for a few minutes. “I’d never do that to you,” he mumbles.

“I never said you would,” Louis says, frowning. “Harry—”

“I just, like—” Harry huffs, “I don’t know. You’d break up with me?”

“I’m not breaking up with you, Harry,” Louis laughs nervously.

“But you would?” Harry asks, looking over. “You would break up with me?”

“If you treated me like shit, maybe,” Louis says. “But you don’t. You’re perfect, and I love you, and I’d never break up with you unless you gave me a really, really good reason.”

“This a really stupid thing to be upset about,” Harry says, like he’s just realizing that now. 

“Did you think I was going to break up with you?” Louis asks.

“Well no, not, like, right now,” Harry says. “But the way you said it at lunch— I don’t know, made it seem like it was something you’d thought about.”

Louis’s quiet for a minute. “Harry,” he says eventually, as he’s pulling into Harry’s driveway. “I’m gonna love you forever, you know? Even if— whatever. I’m never going to stop loving you,” he says quietly.

Harry waits for him to put the car in park and then leans over, catching Louis’s face in his hands and kissing him hard.

“I’ll love you for the rest of my life,” Harry says. “I’ll do anything in the world to keep you.”

“I’m yours,” Louis smiles, kissing Harry once more, just because he can. Because he’ll always be able to. 

“And I’m yours,” Harry says. “Forever.”

“Forever,” Louis says, locking his pinkie with Harry’s.

“I feel silly for getting upset,” Harry says. “I feel really awful for Perrie.”

“Me too,” Louis says. “They always seemed like such a perfect couple.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, thinking for a moment. “Well, thanks for the ride. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, pressing one more kiss to Louis’s cheek before collecting his bag and opening the door.

“Bye, love you,” Louis calls. Harry leans down to grin at him through the window, and then he’s dashing to his front door, letting himself inside and waving to Louis from the doorway. Louis waves back, waiting for Harry to close the door, and then finally, once he’s sure Harry is safe and sound, he puts the car in reverse, heading home.

+

Louis’s been on Xbox Live with Harry, Niall and Liam for a few hours on Saturday when his phone starts buzzing on the floor where he left it, and seeing as his whole family is home and almost everyone else who calls him is currently speaking to him through his headset, there’s only one person that can be calling him.

“Hang on, guys,” Louis says, pausing his game and picking his phone up off the floor.

“Louis!” Harry screeches, “You can’t pause without warning— we’re dead, good job, we’re dead.”

“Sorry,” Louis chuckles, “phone call. Be back in a minute.”

“Make it quick!” Niall shouts, but Louis slips his headset off before he can finish yelling, leaving it on the coffee table and darting to his bedroom to answer the phone.

“Hey,” he says, plopping down on his bed. “All good?”

“Ridge?” Perrie says, voice tight. “Please?”

“Okay,” Louis says gently. “Should I call the others? We could have, like, a picnic, or something—”

“No,” Perrie says. “No one else.”

Louis purses his lips. “Okay, no one else.”

“Okay,” Perrie says, voice shaking. “Pick me up, please?”

“Be there in fifteen,” Louis says. Perrie hangs up, so Louis snaps his phone shut, too, digging in his desk drawer for a moment in search of a certain tupperware container. Once he’s found it, he slips it in his backpack, and then heads back to the living room to pick up his headset.

“Hey, boys,” he says, grabbing his controller, to disconnect from the game. “I’ve gotta go.”

“No!” Harry shrieks. “You’re my teammate!”

“He’s got a point,” Niall says. “He’s absolutely useless without you, y’know.”

“I’ll be on your team, Harry,” Liam says. 

“No,” Harry whines. “Louis, where are you going?”

“Uh,” Louis says; he’s not sure if he’s allowed to tell, but then again, Perrie didn’t tell him anything specific, and even though Louis’s pretty sure he knows what’s happened, he doesn’t want to tell anyone else if Perrie isn’t ready. “Family thing. Mom needs me to run to the store.”

“What kinda family thing do they have at the store?” Niall asks, suspicious.

“Shut up,” Louis says.

“Hey,” Harry says, voice soft, understanding. “Love you.”

“Ew,” Niall says.

“Love you, too, baby,” Louis grins.

“Ew!” says the choir.

“I’ll talk to you guys later,” Louis says. With that, he disconnects, turning his Xbox off and grabbing his keys. He calls out to tell his mom he’ll be back later, he’s going to Harry’s, and then he’s gone, driving across town to Perrie’s house.

Perrie’s waiting outside for him, her face bare, an odd sight. Perrie’s worn a full face of makeup every day since about the sixth grade, and seeing her like this reminds Louis of when they were little kids and Louis used to count the freckles on Perrie’s face, looking for constellations like her cheeks were little night skies.

She looks miserable, shuffling toward the car and falling into the passenger seat, already digging through Louis’s backpack.

“Hey,” Louis says, “leave it, ‘til we get there.”

Perrie moans and slumps back in the seat, looking up at him with wet eyes.

Louis pouts, opening his arms, and Perrie tumbles into him, sniffling into his chest. “Drive, please,” she mumbles.

Louis drives. It’s only a couple minutes from Perrie’s house to the Ridge, the very end of Whitfield, where the town swells up on a hill and then drops off into a cliff face, looking out at the rest of the town. It’s beautiful, especially now, at the very end of summer, when the air is warm but the breeze is cool, the sun getting ready to dip below the horizon, the moon already looming above the trees like it just couldn’t wait to come out. Perrie gets out of the car the second Louis’s parked, climbing up on the hood of the car and curling her knees into her chest.

Louis gets the tupperware out of his backpack and gets out, too, climbing up next to Perrie and folding his legs in front of himself, setting up his little work station.

Perrie doesn’t say a word until Louis’s got the blunt rolled, after he’s lit it and let her have the first hit. She breathes in deep and holds the smoke until her face turns red, letting it out in a whoosh of breath as the first tear rolls down her cheek. 

“He called this morning,” Perrie says, passing the blunt back to Louis. Louis shakes his head, so Perrie keeps it, staring down at it while she talks. “I was gonna dump him, y’know, like everyone said to, but he beat me to it.”

“Oh, Perrie,” Louis sighs.

Perrie breaks, burying her face in her knees. “My life is over,” she whines.

“No it’s not,” Louis says, moving a bit closer to rub her back. 

“I love him so much, I can’t lose him,” Perrie cries, shifting to curl into Louis’s side. “But he doesn’t want me anymore,” she says, lifting the blunt to her mouth again with a shaky hand.

“I’m sure it’s not that he doesn’t want you,” Louis says. “It’s that he wants other things, too. I’m sure he didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Well I’m _hurt_ ,” Perrie says.

“Well,” Louis says.

“Imagine Harry broke up with you so he could go off and live in the city and fuck other girls,” Perrie says.

“Perrie,” Louis laughs quietly, “I love you so much, but think about what you just said.”

“I’m serious,” Perrie bites. “Put yourself in my shoes for a second. Imagine Harry didn’t want you anymore, because he wanted something else more than you, he cared about something else more than he ever cared about you. Imagine one day he just got up and said ‘okay, see ya later, maybe’ and fucked off and never came back.”

Louis gets quiet, swallowing hard. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbles. “I get it.”

Perrie digs her face into Louis’s neck, crying quietly. Louis wraps his arms around her and holds her tight, resting his chin atop her unwashed hair and staring out over the hill. The blunt burns down to nothing in Perrie’s hand and the sun winks out of view amidst the bubblegum sky and Perrie stops crying eventually, but she doesn’t sit up, just curls tighter into Louis’s side and sighs.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Louis says, tracing his fingers up and down her spine. “I, for one, will _never_ leave you.”

Perrie smiles weakly against his neck. “Thanks, Lou.”

“Seriously, Perrie, if I was straight, my _god_.”

Perrie laughs, pulling away and sitting up to wipe at her face. “Straight Louis would be so scary,” she says.

“Hey,” Louis frowns.

“I wish I could just marry you,” Perrie sighs, looking up at him.

“Well,” Louis shrugs. “Harry might object, but we can ask him.”

Perrie smiles, closing her eyes for a minute. “Let’s make a pact,” she says eventually, reaching for his hand.

“A pact?” Louis asks.

“If I never fall in love again, and if, God forbid, you and Harry ever break up, and if we’re both still single by the time we’re thirty, we’ll marry each other,” Perrie says. 

“Perrie,” Louis laughs.

“Promise me,” Perrie demands, squeezing his hand, “or I’ll fling myself off the cliff right now.”

Louis laughs again, lacing his fingers through Perrie’s. “Okay, okay, I promise,” he says.

“I hope you and Harry never break up,” Perrie says after a little while, putting her head down on Louis’s shoulder.

“Me too,” Louis says.

“You two are perfect for each other,” she says. “You have your issues, obviously, but you always get through them, y’know? I thought Zayn and I were perfect, because we never fought, not even once. I thought that meant that we’d be together forever, not that he’d up and dump me the second things got inconvenient,” she admits.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Sometimes I worry we fight too much, but, I think you have a point.”

“What do you mean you fight too much?” Perrie says.

“Like, it’s just so hard, y’know? Harry doesn’t want to come out, which is fine, but he also can be super possessive — not, like, in a bad way, but, I don’t know,” Louis sighs. “It’s worth it, y’know, because I love him enough to deal with it all, and I know that he loves me, too, even if he’s a little scared of it sometimes. I just wish— I don’t know. I just wish sometimes that it was easier.”

“It’ll get easier someday,” Perrie says. “When we’re not in high school anymore, when you can get out of Whitfield and be free, y’know? Everything’s easier when you’re older.”

“Maybe,” Louis says. “I hope you’re right.”

“I hope I’m right, too,” Perrie says. “Because being a teenager fucking sucks.”

“Yeah,” Louis says.

“Do you have any more weed?” Perrie asks. “And a blanket?”

They relocate from the hood of the car to the backseat, curling up under the blanket Louis keeps in the trunk and rolling the windows down while they smoke through another blunt. They stay like that for a while, until the sun makes it all the way around and starts rising again behind them. Perrie falls asleep with her head on Louis’s chest and Louis dozes off curled around her, and there’s a lot of things that Louis doesn’t know about life quite yet, but he does know that he and Perrie are never, ever going to grow apart.

+

The worst part of the fall is when it starts to get cold outside and gym class moves indoors. The gym is still sweltering from the lack of air conditioning in the summer, and they play basketball, but it’s miserable, and the whole gym stinks of rubber and sweaty teenagers. Louis’s got a natural competitive streak that won’t allow him to half-ass gym class in any capacity, so he’s really rather stinky when he gets home from school at the end of the day, leaving Harry in his room to work on homework while he goes to take a much needed shower.

Harry comes over most days after school, because the closer they get to graduation, the more they’re beginning to fear the future. They’ve both applied to all the same colleges, but if they’re being honest, neither of them really want to go. Harry’s absolutely convinced that the band is going to take off any day now, that someone important will come into Pomona’s and hear them play, and they’ll be big stars before the next school year even starts. Louis’s not putting all of his eggs in that basket, but he is putting most of them in there, mostly out of blind hope.

He’s been thinking a lot lately about the band, specifically about the future of the band, what they’ll do after this school year ends. They have big hopes for their last talent competition, but after that, they’re going to have to find some new lofty aspiration to aim for. Louis thinks they should start playing more original music and less covers, but he’s yet to voice that to the others, because as it is, they hardly have enough time at the end of the day to learn the covers, let alone to write and perform their _own_ music. Louis’s written a couple songs, but nothing he’s overly confident about. All he really has the capacity for is sappy love songs, unsurprisingly, but he thinks that if he really tried, he could probably write a pretty good song. 

When he gets out of the shower, he finds Harry sitting cross legged on his bed, hastily pretending that he isn’t hiding something behind his back. He’s flushed red, eyes wide, the perfect image of guilt, and Louis narrows his eyes at him.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says quickly.

Louis falters. “What?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Harry says, squeezing his eyes shut. “I was just looking for your chem notes, I swear.”

Louis blushes, even though he still isn’t really sure what Harry found. “What are you talking about?” he asks, trying to peek over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry lowers his eyes, slowly pulling Louis’s notebook out from behind his back. Louis frowns, and Harry flushes a little deeper, flipping through it for a moment and then showing Louis a page toward the back of the book.

Louis snatches it, brain going staticky when he realizes what it is. Harry’s grinning when he looks up, chewing on his lip like he’s trying to keep from smiling too wide.

“Did you write that about me?” he asks, shy.

“No,” Louis says, sitting down at the end of the bed. “It’s about this really good taco I had, actually—”

“Shut up,” Harry laughs, crawling closer to curl against Louis’s back. “Will you sing it for me?”

“It’s not done,” Louis says weakly.

“So?” Harry says. “Please?”

“I don’t know how it goes,” Louis says. “Honestly, I forgot I wrote it. I got high with Perrie after she and Zayn broke up, and we were talking about life and love, and stuff, and then the next day I wrote this. I think I was gonna bring it to the band, maybe, if we ever start playing original stuff, but, I don’t know. I kinda just wanna keep it to myself, y’know?” he says.

“Okay,” Harry says. “Now sing it. I’m not letting this go.”

Louis laughs, leaning back into Harry’s chest. Harry holds him low around the waist, hooking his chin over Louis’s shoulder, and Louis sighs.

“It doesn’t have a melody—”

“Oh my God, Louis, shut up,” Harry moans. “Just make one up, for fuck’s sake, I’m going to kill myself.”

“Okay, okay, sorry,” Louis laughs, chewing on his lip as he reads over the lyrics. “My hands, your hands, tied up like two ships,” he sings quietly, “drifting, weightless, waves try to break it. I'd do anything to save it, why is it so hard to say it?”

“Keep going,” Harry breathes, pressing his face into the back of Louis’s neck.

“My heart, your heart, sit tight like bookends, pages between us, written with no end. So many words we're not saying, don't wanna wait 'til it's gone, you make me strong.” 

Harry picks it up at the chorus, adding his own melody. “I'm sorry if I say, ‘I need you,’ but I don't care,  
I'm not scared of love. 'Cause when I'm not with you I'm weaker, is that so wrong? Is it so wrong that you make me strong?”

“I like that,” Louis says, turning to look at Harry’s face. “You’re good at melodies.”

“You’re good at lyrics,” Harry says, kissing his lips gently. “Sounds like we’re a pretty good team, hm?”

Louis grins, kissing Harry again. “Guess so,” he says.

“Have you written any other songs about me?” Harry asks, flipping through a few more pages of Louis’s notebook.

“No,” Louis lies; the other ones are hidden away in a separate notebook in his desk, and Harry doesn’t need to know about those quite yet.

“Shame,” Harry says, closing Louis’s notebook and kissing at his neck a little. “Will you help me with my chem homework?”

“Only if you keep doing that for a little while first,” Louis says, eyes fluttering closed when Harry giggles into his neck.

“Fair price, I think,” Harry says, and the next thing Louis knows, he’s flat on his back on the bed, Harry hovering over him, holding his cheeks and kissing him sweetly. 

They don’t get very much homework done for the rest of the afternoon, but that’s alright.

+

Senior year passes in a blur of weekend shows at Pomona’s, beer and movies in Liam’s basement, and hanging out in Louis’s car, as many of them as can fit, in random convenience store parking lots and movie theater parking lots and, really, whichever parking lots they can find. This is life in small town America in the year 2009, and this is about as good as it gets.

Before Louis knows it, there’s a table set up in the cafeteria at school to buy tickets to the senior prom. Louis has never really cared for the idea of prom, if he’s honest, but Harry’s been begging him to go for a month now, and Louis guesses he can deal with it, if it makes Harry so happy. He thinks he’d do anything to make Harry happy, and prom seems a pretty small price to pay.

Of course, they’re not going together. It had been Louis’s idea, actually, to ask the girls to be their dates so that they wouldn’t have to risk anyone finding out they were actually together. They’ll arrive together, and probably spend the whole evening together, but after they take their real pictures at home, Louis will be posing with Perrie on the red carpet at the hotel, and Harry will be posing with Jesy.

Jesy’s been over the moon all week since Harry asked her (“ _I’m_ going to prom with _Harry Styles_! The _whole school_ is going to be _flabbergasted_!”) and Perrie’s just glad that she won’t have to go alone, because she’s still not really over Zayn and, in her words, Louis is a close second best. Niall, in the spirit of taking a friend who’s a girl to prom, decided to ask Jade, and then, in an act of sheer desperation and still-wounded feelings from sophomore year, Liam worked up the courage to ask Leigh-Anne, and, remarkably, she said yes.

The pre-prom pictures are a little complicated, given that none of their families knows that Louis and Harry are together except for Louis’s mom, even still. They decide to do the pictures at Louis’s house with everyone, and it’s fine, at first, until Louis’s mom suggests that Harry and Louis pose for a picture together in front of the fireplace and Harry steps right up behind Louis, arms around his waist in a typical prom pose, and Louis feels his heart drop right out of his ass.

“Um, Harry,” Harry’s mom says, laughing awkwardly. “You don’t have to pose like that, y’know, dear. You can do a normal one.”

Louis locks eyes with his own mother, who looks like a kettle about to boil over. He doesn’t look away from her, can’t look anywhere else, and Harry’s arms tighten around his middle.

“What’s wrong with this pose?” Harry asks, voice tight, trembling almost imperceptibly.

“I just wanted a photo of the two of you in your suits, darling,” Harry’s mom laughs, still thinking it’s a joke. Louis wants to _die_. “Y’know, like that photo of you two right here before Jay’s wedding, when you were small?”

“Oh,” Harry says, pulling away. Louis feels the room let out a collective sigh. “Okay,” Harry says, standing up straight next to Louis, smiling at his mom’s digital camera like nothing’s wrong. Louis makes himself smile, too, and as soon as the flash has gone off, he looks up at Harry, can’t help himself.

Harry clenches his jaw and, before anyone can move, he whips his head around, grabbing Louis by the face and kissing him hard. Louis squeaks into his mouth, hands settling instinctually on Harry’s waist, melting into him the longer Harry kisses him. Another flash goes off, and Louis flinches away, looking up to find his own mother with her finger still poised over the button on her camera, eyes full of tears.

Perrie reacts first, letting out a long, low whistle. Louis laughs brightly, looking back up at Harry, who still hasn’t moved, except for the fact that he’s smiling now.

“Well,” Louis says, stepping forward into Harry’s chest, slipping his arms under Harry’s suit jacket to hug him around the waist. “That’s that, then.”

“What,” Harry’s mom says, stunned, “is happening?”

“Uh,” Harry says, holding Louis tight around his shoulders. His hands are shaking, but he presses them flat against Louis’s back to hide it, and Louis presses a little closer, smiling against Harry’s chest. “We’re, um. Dating,” he says.

“Oh, thank _fuck_ ,” Louis’s mom says, rounding on Harry’s mom and pulling her into her arms. “I thought they’d never tell you. I’ve been sitting on this for _months_.”

“What?” Harry’s mom asks, pulling away. “What? _What_?”

“Sorry we didn’t tell you,” Harry says, quietly, awkwardly. The crowd disperses all at once, and Louis pulls away from Harry’s chest, finding that Harry’s trembling all over now, not just his hands.

“Oh, honey,” his mom says, stepping up and taking Louis’s place in his arms. “Oh, that’s alright. You’re— you’re dating? Each other?” she asks, like she can’t quite believe it.

Harry nods, looking over at Louis. Louis smiles encouragingly, but then Anne turns on him, and Louis’s eyes go wide.

“Oh, don’t look so scared,” Anne says, tugging Louis into her arms. Louis goes easily; Harry’s mom has always been like a second mom to him, for as long as he can remember, and he is no stranger to her hugs. “How long?” she asks Louis, like she doesn’t trust her own son to give her a straight answer.

“Almost four years,” Louis admits, eyes going wide again when Anne gasps and rounds on Harry.

“Four years?” she says, slapping Harry’s shoulder. “ _Four years_ , and you didn’t _tell me_?” 

“I’m sorry,” Harry laughs weakly, dragging Louis in front of him slightly for protection. “I didn’t know how you’d react.” 

“My babies,” Anne says, going soft when Louis leans back against Harry, Harry’s hands settling on his hips instinctually. “Jay, our _babies_.” 

“Exactly like we always wished for,” Jay says, hugging Anne again. “Remember?” 

Louis grins, tilting his head back to look up at Harry. Harry still looks a little nervous, but he drops down to kiss Louis sweetly anyway, pressing his lips against his ear when he pulls away from Louis’s mouth. 

“I was feeling really shitty about not being your prom date,” he says, voice low, sending shivers all the way down Louis’s spine. “I’ve been thinking about this all week. I thought it was about time my mom knew, at least.” 

“I love you,” Louis says, turning around in Harry’s arms and hugging him as tight as he can without wrinkling Harry’s suit. He wants to ask if this means they can dance together at prom, if they can take the floor together during the slow dance, Louis’s head on Harry’s shoulder, Harry’s hands low on Louis’s waist. He doesn’t want to push, though, and he thinks that might be asking a little much of Harry right now, after all of this. 

He makes eye contact with Perrie over Harry’s shoulder, and she’s smiling softly at them, but she taps her wrist gently, reminding him of the time. Louis pulls away from Harry’s hold, gaining the attention of the parents and everyone else milling around the room. 

“We’re running late now, so if anyone else has any announcements?” he says, grinning. There’s a low murmur from the congregation, and then Louis takes Harry’s hand and starts pulling. “We’re off to prom, then.” 

“Oh, have fun,” Louis’s mom says, hurrying after him to slip her camera into his pocket. “Take lots of pictures, okay?” 

It takes a few more minutes and a lot of cheek kissing and ‘thank you for coming’s and then they’re off, piling carefully into two separate cars to drive to the country club across town. Louis’s got Harry in his passenger seat, Perrie and Jesy in the back, and Liam, Niall, Jade and Leigh-Anne are in Liam’s car behind them, and this feels like one of those nights that’s going to linger, it’s going to stick in Louis’s brain until he’s old and gray, with Harry by his side, all of his friends around him, because these are his people, and they’re never, ever going to grow apart. 

When he parks the car at the country club, he subconsciously reaches up to fix the corsage on the lapel of his jacket, glancing over at Harry. Harry’s already watching him, a tiny smile on his lips, and Louis blushes, reaching over to squeeze his knee. “Ready?” he asks. 

They climb out of the car as Liam pulls into the parking spot next to them, everyone finding their date and meandering toward the front door. Perrie looks gorgeous, which is nothing new, but she’s exceptionally beautiful tonight, her hair curled to perfection, bubblegum pink to match her dress, to match the lilies she has around her wrist and in her hair. She tucks her hand in the crook of Louis’s elbow and smiles at him with all her pearly teeth, and Louis thinks, not for the first time, that if Louis liked girls, Perrie could probably give Harry a run for his money. 

As it is, though, Louis’s so stupidly, completely in love with Harry, it sends shivers all the way through his body when Harry touches his lower back to get his attention. He’s got Jesy on his arm the same way Louis’s got Perrie, and the others catch up to them quickly, elegantly, and then two of the math teachers open the doors of the country club for them, and the night begins. 

It’s just like any other school dance, for the most part, except that everyone looks amazing, and the food is a touch better. They spend the entire night dancing, laughing, living in the moment, not sparing a single thought for the future. They only have about a month left of high school, and then, who knows what will happen. Louis and Harry are both set to go to UMass Amherst, and Perrie will be close by, too, at Springfield, but it’s weird to think that all won’t see each other anymore, they won’t be a short drive away, they won’t spend every weekend holed up together in Liam’s basement. 

For now, though, none of that matters. It’s just them, the eight of them, the rest of the senior class blurring into the background, because this is _their_ night, and no one can take that from them. Louis dances the slow dance with Perrie, which is nice enough, but the second it ends, Harry grabs him by the wrist, dragging him toward the back door of the country club, onto the darkened patio. 

It’s cold out, and they’re definitely not supposed to be out here, but Harry pulls Louis into his chest, holding him close. “I wanted a dance,” he says, lips against Louis’s ear, as he starts swaying to the beat of the music from inside. 

Louis smiles, putting his head down on Harry’s shoulder and letting Harry lead. The song playing inside is something quick, dancey, but Harry sways slow, like it’s a ballad, making up for the slow dance they lost before. They keep swaying long after that song has ended, and the next one, too, until Harry’s shivering in his jacket, and Louis’s arms around him aren’t really enough to warm him up anymore. 

“Let’s go back inside,” Harry says quietly, pressing a kiss just below Louis’s eye and making to pull away. Louis doesn’t let him go far, though, dragging him back in for a proper kiss, which Harry accepts happily. 

“I love you,” Louis says, “y’know?” 

“I know,” Harry grins. “I love you, too.” 

Louis smiles dopily, the happiest idiot in the world, and Harry squeezes his hand, leading him back inside the country club function room. 

The rest of the night passes like a dream, hazy and beautiful, completely unforgettable. Louis loves his friends, he loves his life, he loves his Harry and he’s never, ever going to change his mind. 

\+ 

The last weekend of senior year, they have three shows at Pomona’s, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night. They’re gearing up for the talent competition on the following Friday, their last one ever, and they’ve got everything riding on it; this is their last chance to play together for a while, before everything changes forever. There’s been a rumor around the school the last couple of weeks that some talent scout, or something, is planning to be at the show, and if Fearless finally wins this year, it could be the chance they’ve all been waiting for. 

Pomona’s is packed for their last few shows of the year. There’s underclassmen, older kids, Whitfield High alums, home from college for the summer, teachers and parents and general live music fans alike. Louis feels like he’s on top of the world, fingers dancing over his keyboard like second nature while Harry works the microphone like he was born to do it, singing his beautiful heart out and keeping the entire bar enthralled, enchanted, in love. 

Harry still gets most of the attention for the band, but honestly, it’s well deserved. He’s like a real rock star, it’s so incredible to watch; he finishes every show dripping sweat, high out of his mind on adrenaline, happily accepting the beers that some of the older girls buy for him. If anyone deserves the credit for any future success for this little band, it’s Harry, but they all know that none of it would work if it weren’t for every single one of them. 

They’ve got their song for the talent show all ready to go, and they’re playing it tonight, the last night of their little residency at Pomona’s before the biggest week of their lives. The crowd’s a little smaller tonight than it has been the last two nights, given that it’s a Sunday, but they still make just as much noise when Harry leans close to the microphone and says, “would anyone like to hear a new song?” 

Louis smiles to himself, cracking his knuckles and glancing over at Liam on the drums. He looks so excited, already clicking his drumsticks together, and Niall’s bouncing on the balls of his feet on the other side of the stage, playing little riffs to keep the crowd entertained while Harry takes a quick water break. 

“This next song is going to be our entry for the Whitfield High Talent Competition next weekend,” Harry says, and then lowers his voice, “Friday night on the football field, be there or be square.” The crowd gives a little cheer, and Harry turns fully around, grinning at Louis. 

Harry almost never looks at Louis when they’re on stage, mostly because they’re both far too distracting for the other to handle. Every time Harry turns around to watch Louis play, he loses his place in the song, and, similarly, every time Louis gets a little too caught up in watching Harry perform, he fucks up the melody, and the others find it endlessly infuriating. Right now, though, Harry’s beaming right at him, like another spotlight aimed right at Louis’s face. 

“This song was written by our endlessly talented keyboardist, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry says, presenting Louis to the audience with a grand gesture. Louis smiles, waving shyly, and then Harry turns the spotlight back on himself, walking back to the front of the tiny stage. “This is called Strong,” he says, and then Niall starts playing, and the room fades away. 

The crowd absolutely loves the song; from the very first note, everyone’s dancing, cheering, and when the song inevitably ends, as all good things do, they immediately start cheering for an encore. Harry lets them cheer for a moment, pretending like he can’t hear them, ever the charismatic frontman, but then, finally, he laughs into the microphone. 

“Thanks for having us,” he says, bowing politely. “Once again, we’re Fearless, and we’ll see you at the Whitfield High football field this Friday night.” 

\+ 

Louis is buzzing, literally buzzing. He’s more than shaking, he’s actually _vibrating_ ; he can feel it in his toes, at the very top of his skull, and in every single bone in between. The lights are so bright, and the entire football field is chanting, a sea of faceless bodies, writhing and pumping their firsts. _Fearless! Fearless! Fearless!_

“In third place,” says the emcee, booming over the crowd; they had to turn his microphone up, because the crowd was too noisy, and in a complete lack of respect for any of the other acts of the night, they only get louder as Mrs. Stapleton steps onto the stage with the yellow third place ribbon. “Kim Curtis, and her lovely violin!” 

Mrs. Stapleton hands the ribbon proudly to Kim, and the crowd cheers politely for her, but it doesn’t last long. 

“In second place,” says the emcee, having to shout again to be heard, “Jake Bright and Tad Price with their hilarious dance to Tik Tok by Kesha!” 

Mrs. Stapleton hands the red ribbon to the two tomato-faced, laughing juniors, and then, finally, the emcee says the only thing that matters. 

“In first place—” Louis grabs for Harry’s hand, can’t help himself, and Harry grabs for Niall’s, and Niall grabs for Liam’s, and the vibrating intensifies— “our winners for the night, voted unanimously by the judges and, apparently, by the audience— _Fearless_!” 

Louis screams, turning to face Harry at the same moment Harry turns to face him. Louis jumps on some unspoken cue, and Harry catches him, Louis’s legs wrapping around Harry’s waist as Harry twirls about the stage. Niall accepts the trophy from Mrs. Stapleton and then does a full lap around the stage, and when Harry finally puts Louis down again, he thinks the ground beneath his feet will never feel quite the same. 

\+ 

As if the universe couldn’t make it clear enough that Louis and Harry are destined to be next to each other, in every sense, for their entire lives, there’s only one person between them, alphabetically, at graduation. Carrie Thorne does not seem terribly eager to be between them, and it’s actually _her_ idea for her and Louis to switch seats during the ceremony, and they’ll switch back when they actually get up to walk. There’s hours before that happens, though, because there’s over 300 people in their class, and Carrie, the smart girl that she is, wants no part in being the person sitting between Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson. 

It makes the ceremony go a little bit faster when Louis’s able to chat quietly to Harry the entire time. Being at the end of the alphabet sucks, honestly, and it’s hot as fuck outside in the blazing sun, and the black gowns aren’t helping a bit. Harry keeps giggling at all of Louis’s snide comments, though, and it makes the day a little more bearable, even though Louis’s sure he’s going to have a sunburn on the back of his neck for the next week, at least. 

Eventually, after the majority of their classmates have already gotten to walk across the field and shake Mr. Foster’s hand and collect their diplomas, the marshall gets to Louis’s row. They stand up professionally, and Louis hangs back for a second to let Carrie slip in front of him, and then, finally, they walk one by one across the field as their names are called. There are a few people in front of Harry, and Harry keeps turning around to smile at Louis excitedly, as if to say, _this is it_. 

“Harry Edward Styles,” says the vice principal over the speaker. There’s a polite smattering of applause from the audience, and Louis cheers loudly, earning himself an embarrassed grin as Harry scurries across the field to where Mr. Foster is waiting. 

“Carol Elizabeth Thorne,” says the vice principal, and Louis can see Carrie walking in his periphery, but his eyes are stuck on Harry, who has paused beside the rows of graduates to watch Louis walk. 

“Louis William Tomlinson,” says the vice principal, but Louis doesn’t take his eyes off of Harry until Dustin Turner pushes gently at his shoulder, and he all but skips across the field to receive his diploma. He runs to Harry once he’s gotten it, nudging Harry’s shoulder with his own, and Harry beams at him, leading the way back to their seats. Carrie has helpfully taken Harry’s previous seat so that Harry can be next to Louis again, and they spend the rest of the ceremony giggling about nothing as the rest of their lives unfurls before them. \+ 

Louis’s graduation party takes place immediately after the ceremony ends, so once the festivities at the school come to a close, everyone heads right to Louis’s house, where the backyard is already set up to let the celebration continue. 

It’s such a beautiful day outside, and Louis’s yard gets just the perfect amount of shade, and Louis’s so happy he feels like he could burst. There’s music playing over the speakers his mom rented, and, since everyone at the party knows about him and Harry after prom, Louis doesn’t have to stop himself from cuddling up to Harry every chance he gets, and Harry even cuddles him back, kisses him in front of everyone on multiple occasions. 

Fearless plays an impromptu set after dinner, using the back deck as a stage. They play Louis’s song three times, because Harry can’t seem to get enough of it, and Louis’s pretty sure that if he looked in a mirror right now, he’d find himself glowing, shining like he’s made entirely of sunshine. 

They haven’t heard anything about the talent scout that was apparently at the talent show last week, but they’re not bothered; they have the whole summer to write some new songs, maybe record some demos, and Niall heard on the radio the other day that YouTube is going to be the next big thing for musicians to get discovered, so they might try that, too. No matter what happens, Louis is on top of the world right now, and nothing’s going to bring him down today. 

Harry spends the whole day glued to Louis’s side, touchier than he is even when they’re alone. If Louis wasn’t so blinded with joy, he might think that something’s wrong, but as it is, he can’t get enough of Harry’s attention, and Harry can’t seem to stop giving it to him. 

As the sun goes down, the party begins to dwindle, until it’s just the eight of them sitting around the firepit, drinking beer out of plastic cups while Louis’s mom starts cleaning up the yard, pretending not to notice. Harry’s been sitting in Louis’s lap for an hour, arms around Louis’s waist, and despite the fact that Louis’s legs are asleep, he’s never been so comfortable in his life. Harry shifts a little, tucking his face into Louis’s neck, and Louis shivers. 

“Hey,” Harry says, fingers grazing the outside of Louis’s arm. “I need to talk to you about something.” 

“Yeah?” Louis asks, glancing down at him. 

Harry purses his lips and then stands up, reaching down to pull Louis out of his lawn chair. Louis stumbles into him, a little tipsy and a lot numb from the thighs down, and Harry smiles, gently leading him away from the fire and into the shadows, closer to the house. 

“Um,” Harry says, staring down at the ground for a minute. He looks like he’s going to say something important, and Louis’s stomach swoops a little when Harry meets his eyes. Harry hesitates, and then deflates a little. “Can I sleep over tonight?” 

“Of course,” Louis says. “And then we can go together to Perrie’s party tomorrow afternoon.” 

Harry falters a little, and then nods. “Um, yeah,” he says. 

“Are you okay?” Louis asks, the past few hours finally catching up to him. “You’ve been kinda weird today.” 

“I’m— yeah, good,” Harry says, giving Louis a tight smile. “Just weird, I guess, not being in high school anymore.” 

“Right?” Louis grins. “Good weird, though. Feels like things are about to get so much better, doesn’t it?” 

Harry nods, looking down. 

“Let’s go back to the fire,” Louis says, tugging on Harry’s hand. “It’s almost eleven, and everyone’s gonna have to leave soon.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Harry says, following him back to the firepit. Louis resumes his place in his lawn chair, but Harry plops down on the ground in front of him, sitting between Louis’s knees with his back against the seat of the chair, resting his head against the inside of Louis’s knee. 

The others peter off one by one as curfews come around, eleven, eleven-thirty, midnight, until it’s just Harry and Louis left outside, just them and the crickets. 

“Bedtime?” Louis asks, petting at Harry’s hair. 

Harry startles a little, nodding quickly. “Sure.” 

Louis helps him up off the ground and they dump a bucket of water over the firepit, watching it sizzle out to embers. It takes a while to smuggle Harry safely into the house, since they’re technically still not allowed to have sleepovers like this, but they make it to Louis’s room unseen, and once the door closes behind them, the energy building up inside of Harry finally seems to bubble over. 

He’s on Louis in a second, kissing him so hard their teeth click together, and Louis whimpers, pulling his head back. Harry gets a hold of his shirt and _pulls_ , and Louis laughs nervously, covering Harry’s hands with his own to try and slow him down. 

“Hey,” he says, ducking his head until he meets Harry’s eye. “What are you doing?” 

“I wanna,” Harry breathes, popping the first few buttons of Louis’s shirt and then looking up at him again. “I wanna— touch you. Is this okay?” 

Louis pauses, watching Harry’s face. They’ve never — well, okay, they’ve done _some_ stuff before, but never, like, _naked_ stuff, never _is it okay if I undress you_ stuff. 

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Louis says, releasing Harry’s hands to let him get back to work. “I just— are _you_ okay?” 

“Everything’s changing,” Harry mumbles, getting Louis’s shirt all the way open and then kissing him again, still too hard, but not as hard as before. 

“Yeah,” Louis says, kissing Harry back until Harry pulls away. “Things are changing, I guess, but—” 

“Nothing will be the same tomorrow,” Harry says, pulling his shirt off over his head. Louis’s mouth goes dry, but he shakes his head. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I—” Harry says, but he chokes a little, pushing Louis’s shirt off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. He steps closer, tracing his cold fingertips over the curve of Louis’s shoulder, and Louis shivers into him, touching Harry’s naked chest, mesmerized. “When we wake up tomorrow, nothing will be the same,” Harry breathes, leaning in to breathe on Louis’s neck. “So why don’t we change one more thing, while we’re at it?” 

Louis still doesn’t really know what that means, and it’s kind of scary if he thinks about it, so he chooses not to think about it. He nods, eyes glued to the smooth surface of Harry’s shoulder within biting distance; he’s truly never gotten the urge to bite a shoulder before, but here he is, mouth watering. “Okay,” he mutters. 

“Yes?” Harry asks, pulling away an inch. 

“Yes,” Louis says, grabbing Harry by the waist and pulling him back in. 

Harry kisses him, inching him toward the bed, and then Harry lies him down, and changes his entire world.


	3. Chapter 3

It takes him a few minutes after he’s woken up to remember what happened last night, but it comes back to him in bits and pieces as he stumbles out of bed and down the hall to the bathroom, seeing the mess he made after he got home.

Oh, right. He saw Harry last night. Harry ruined his life. 

He spends a few hours cleaning up the mess, ignoring his pounding head in favor of restoring his apartment to the perfectly clean state he achieved the other day. He felt so good after that, felt like everything was okay for a little while, and right now, he’d do absolutely anything to feel like anything is okay.

Maybe he should be grateful for what Harry did, he thinks, as he picks his lamp up off the ground and carefully puts it back in place. Harry really did help him out a lot over the years, provided a lot of light spots in his darkest days. He helped Perrie, too, in a sort of twisted way, and Louis’s sisters, and he knows that Harry really did have good intentions, after all. He wasn’t _trying_ to undermine him, or anything.

And yet, Louis feels _so_ undermined. He feels like a fucking fool, feels like a child, feels like some poor sinner thinking he’s been making all his own luck for the past ten years, and come to find out, God was pulling the strings the whole fucking time. 

He can’t figure out the way he feels, can’t figure out the way he’s supposed to feel, or what the hell he’s supposed to do now. He plops down on the couch when he’s cleaned up as much as he can stand to clean up, putting his head in his hands for a long few minutes and trying to sort it all out.

The sound of someone knocking at his door makes him jump, and he looks up, frowning. Normally, people don’t knock on his door. Usually, they have to be buzzed in at the front door of the building, so it’s either someone who knows his code, or someone who lives in the building, which means it’s either Perrie or a neighbor, and Perrie definitely would’ve called first. Then again, though— Louis digs his phone out of his pocket and sighs when he finds that it’s dead, getting up to go plug it in.

“You have a key!” he calls, figuring it’s just Perrie, after all, tracking him down to make sure he isn’t dead. Once his phone is plugged in and charging, though, she still hasn’t let herself in, so Louis rolls his eyes and goes to open the door.

“What, did you lose your key, or—” he freezes, eyes catching on a pair of feet that _definitely_ don’t belong to Perrie. They’re in Gucci sneakers, for one thing, and they’re pigeon-toed awkwardly, and Louis’s heart falls out of his ass. “You’re not Perrie.”

“No,” Harry says, voice low and raspy, apologetic. “I’m not.”

Louis looks up at his face, blinking once. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Harry closes his eyes, swallowing hard. “I don’t really know,” he says, opening his eyes just to stare at Louis’s threshold, still placed perfectly between them, like a boundary. “I just— I couldn’t let that be it.”

“How do you know where I live?” Louis asks.

“I might have followed you home last night,” Harry says, ashamed. “And I might have come back this morning, waited in the parking lot for a while, saw your neighbor coming out and snuck in before the door closed.”

Louis blinks, hesitating for hardly a second before he moves to shut the door in Harry’s face. Harry puts his foot in the way, though, whimpering quietly when Louis jams his stupid Gucci sneaker against the doorframe.

“Please,” Harry says, leaning against the door heavily. “Louis, please, can we talk?”

“Does Camille know you’re here?” Louis asks bitterly.

Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment, and when Louis pulls the door open a little more, Harry’s staring confusedly at his shoes, like he doesn’t know whose shoes they are. “I guess not,” he says quietly.

“Does she know anything?” Louis asks.

Harry swallows hard again. “No.”

Louis tries to close the door again, but Harry shoves against it from the other side, forcing it open and knocking Louis out of the way a bit. Louis stumbles and Harry uses the opportunity to get all the way inside, leaving the door ajar behind himself.

“ _Please_ ,” he says, eyes red when Louis meets them.

“Please what?” Louis spits, backing away from him. “Please forgive you? Please let you back into my life so you can ruin me again? Please keep letting you undermine me and fill me with false hope and then shatter it all and bring up all the fucking awful shit I’ve been through since you walked out on me? Please what, Harry? _Please what_?!”

“Please help me,” Harry says, the second Louis stops yelling.

Louis pauses, and Harry splinters into a million tiny, sharp pieces.

“Please,” Harry says, the first sob wracking his body. He curls his shoulders in, wraps his arms around himself and hangs his head. “Please help me, I need help, I need help, I need—” 

“What?” Louis asks, watching in horror as Harry stumbles forward, collapsing into Louis’s chest and sobbing into his shirt.

“I regret every fucking thing I’ve done since the day we graduated,” Harry sobs, tears soaking through Louis’s shirt, hot against his skin. “If I could go back and change it, I would. I’d give anything to change it, Louis, please, I want to change it, I want to go back—”

Louis feels like he’s going to pass out, struggling to keep Harry standing. “Harry,” he says, grunting under the weight Harry’s suddenly trusting him to hold. “Harry, what are you talking about?”

“I have no one, Louis,” Harry wails, clinging to him when Louis tries to push him away. “I don’t know who to turn to, I don’t want this life anymore, I don’t want to marry Camille, I don’t want to be Harry Styles, I want you back, and Perrie, and Niall and Liam and Whitfield and you, you, you,” he cries.

Louis freezes up a little, letting Harry keep sobbing into his chest, repeating that one word over and over and over. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to handle this, and suddenly he wants to cry, too, because if Harry could go back and change it all, Louis would want him to, too.

On the one hand, Harry doesn’t deserve fuck all from Louis anymore, and Louis should just kick him out on his ass and call the cops, maybe sell his story to some shitty gossip rag and use the money to fix his life up. On the other hand, though, he’s not actually a demon, and in being not an actual demon, he physically cannot turn Harry away when he’s like this.

“Okay,” Louis says, petting awkwardly at his back. “Okay, Harry, shh, calm down.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry sobs, standing himself up just enough to hug Louis properly, hooking his chin over Louis’s shoulder and squeezing him so tight it hurts. “I’m sorry, Louis, I’m so sorry.”

Louis’s phone starts ringing from the bedroom, and he swears under his breath, trying to pull away from Harry. “It’s okay,” he lies, standing Harry on his own two feet and taking a step back. “I need you to calm down, though, okay? Here, sit down, and I’ll be right back.”

Harry falls headlong onto the couch, whimpering into a throw pillow. Louis feels like he’s become the star of some terribly written drama, locking himself in his bedroom and pressing his phone to his ear with a pillow to muffle the noise from the living room. “Hello?”

“Jesus,” Perrie says, “I’ve called, like, ten times.”

“Perrie, listen,” Louis says, logic going out the window. “I’ve got Daisy on the other line, okay? Big crisis. Can I call you back?”

“Yeah, but, hold on,” Perrie says. “Fuck’s sake, Louis, is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, “just, y’know, teenage drama.”

“I meant last night, asswipe,” Perrie says. “Was Harry tolerable?”

“Oh, um, yeah,” Louis says. “It went fine.”

“Define fine,” Perrie asks suspiciously.

“Perrie, I’ll call you back, okay?” Louis sighs, because he can still hear Harry in his living room and he’d like to have that settled and over with as soon as possible.

“You whore,” Perrie says. “He’s there right now, isn’t he?”

“What?” Louis asks, blood going cold.

“Did he come over last night?” Perrie asks. “Louis, you fucking moron, have you learned nothing—”

“He’s not here!” Louis growls. “I have to go—”

“You’ve never lied to me before, Louis,” Perrie says. “Don’t start now.”

“I’m not lying to you!” Louis lies. 

“Cool, so, I’m coming over,” Perrie says.

“Please don’t,” Louis begs.

“See you in fifteen,” Perrie says, and the line clicks dead.

“Motherfucker,” Louis hisses, tossing his phone on the bed and dashing back to the living room. Harry’s pulled himself together a little bit, but only barely, sitting up on the sofa and crying into his hands.

“Harry,” Louis says, sitting down beside him. “You have to go right now.”

Harry sobs a little harder, doubling over with his face in his own lap. “Please don’t make me leave,” he whimpers. “I have nowhere to go, Louis.”

“I’m so sorry,” Louis says, “but you need to go _right now_. Perrie’s on her way over here, and if she finds you here, she’s going to murder you.”

“She should,” Harry says, sitting up and looking over at him. 

“Harry,” Louis breathes.

“That would be the kindest thing anyone’s done for me in ten years,” Harry says.

Louis sighs, rubbing at his face for a moment while Harry sniffles and hiccups beside him. “Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do,” Louis says, dragging Harry up and off the couch. “You’re going to hide in here,” Louis says, leading Harry into the bedroom and pulling open the closet doors. “You’re going to be absolutely silent, I’m going to get Perrie out of here as fast as possible, and then we’re going to figure this out, okay?”

Harry whimpers, looking into the closet and then up at Louis. “Okay,” he says miserably.

Louis helps him curl up on the floor of the closet, burying him in some of the clothes that still haven’t been cleaned up since Perrie and her girls were here yesterday. Harry, for his part, does an excellent job of trying to be quiet, pressing his face into one of Louis’s balled up hoodies, and when Louis closes the closet door, it’s like no one’s here at all.

He hears Perrie’s key in the lock long before his fifteen minutes are up, and he scrambles for his phone, darting out to the kitchen, as far from the bedroom as he can get. He leans easily against the counter, holding his phone up to his ear and rubbing idly at his temple, which really is throbbing.

Perrie comes in silently, like she’s going to catch him in the act of something, and Louis pretends to look surprised, waving at her with the hand not holding his phone.

“Hang on, Pheebs,” Louis says, rolling his eyes at Perrie. “Hang on one second, okay? Perrie’s here.”

Perrie frowns, looking around the apartment for a moment, even peeking under the couch. 

“I told you I’m fine,” Louis says, holding his phone against the wet patch of Harry’s tears on his shoulder and trying to disguise the way his heart is beating out of control.

“Okay,” Perrie says, straightening up with a sigh. “Sorry,” she says, and then plops down on the couch, like she’s going to stay. Holy fuck, she’s going to stay.

Louis swallows hard, turning away from her and muttering to no one over the phone. “Okay, I’m back, Phoebe.”

“I thought it was Daisy?” Perrie interrupts, and suddenly she’s in front of him, watching him curiously.

“What?” Louis asks, putting the phone against his shoulder again.

“On the phone,” Perrie says, setting her jaw. “I thought you said you were talking to Daisy?”

“Oh,” Louis says, shrugging. “Same crisis, different side. Hush,” he says, putting the phone back to his ear.

“Y’know what,” Perrie says, “let me talk to her.”

Louis’s fucked. “What?”

“Let me talk to her, I bet I’ll be more help than you will,” Perrie says, snatching the phone out of Louis’s hand. God, Louis’s so fucked. “Phoebe?”

No one answers, obviously. “Maybe she hung up,” Louis says, “Because you wouldn’t stop fucking interrupting.”

“Louis, this phone is dead,” Perrie says, dropping it on the counter. It is, indeed, dead. Louis should really get his battery checked out, because he swears it was charged at least 5% when Perrie called.

“That’s weird,” he says, voice tiny, like he still has any chance of saving this.

“So why are you lying to me?” Perrie asks, like she’s his mom, like she’s about to tell him she’s not mad, just disappointed. Louis wants to cry. Actually… 

He hangs his head, sobbing once into his own chest. Perrie gasps, and Louis decides to roll with it, tucking himself into her arms. He’s panicking, doesn’t know what else to do, spinning his story quickly in his head.

“Oh, no,” Perrie says, petting gently at his hair. “What happened, Lou?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Perrie,” Louis whines, sniffling into her shoulder. 

“Just tell me he didn’t hurt you again,” Perrie says, pressing a kiss to his head.

“No,” Louis says, “he didn’t hurt me.” Another lie for the record books.

“Okay,” Perrie says, “because I notice there’s a lot of empty alcohol bottles around.”

“Yeah, I’m just a loser, you know me,” Louis says. For once, the truth!

“See, I knew you shouldn’t have gone out with him,” Perrie says, hugging him a little tighter. “I’m so sorry, Lou.”

“Can you just leave me alone, please? I need to be alone right now,” Louis says quietly, pulling away and wiping at his face.

“Okay, I have to go pick up the girls anyway, but maybe we can come back later and have dinner with you?” Perrie says. “Or you can come to ours, if you’d rather?”

Fucking hell, Louis thinks. “Actually I have a studio appointment today, so I’m heading out in a little bit,” he says miserably. “I was trying to hold myself together, so, thanks.”

“Sorry,” Perrie winces. “That’s good, though! Channel your pain,” she smiles.

“Yeah,” Louis says, forcing a shaky smile. “You should go now,” he says.

“Okay,” Perrie sighs, heading for the door. “Well, call me if you wanna come over after the studio, and we’ll have dinner,” she says, stopping by the door to press a kiss to Louis’s cheek. 

“Sounds good,” Louis says, all but pushing her out the door. He locks it once she’s gone, and then sprints back to the bedroom, watching out the window until her car leaves the lot.

“Okay,” he says, pulling the closet door open. “You can come out now.”

Harry blinks up at him, still holding Louis’s hoodie to his face, breathing into it. He crawls out carefully, still clutching the hoodie, and once he gets up, he hands it back to Louis awkwardly. “It smells like you,” he says, voice all choked up.

“Oh,” Louis says, taking the hoodie and looking down at it for a moment. “Um.”

Harry’s not really crying anymore, but he still looks devastated, all his features pinched tight like he’s doing everything in his power not to break down again. “I guess I should go,” he says, looking down.

“Where are you gonna go?” Louis asks.

“Back to my hotel, I guess,” Harry says.

“And,” Louis hesitates, “will you be alone there?”

“Yeah,” Harry nods. “Camille’s back in France for work, so, I’m alone,” he says.

Harry’s voice from earlier echoes in Louis’s head, _I don’t want to be Harry Styles anymore_ , and Louis cannot let him leave this apartment.

“Cool,” he says.

“Yeah,” Harry mutters.

“So, about what you said,” Louis tries.

“I’m sorry,” Harry cuts him off. “I had no right to ask you for anything. I shouldn’t have told you any of that,” he says, like he’s disappointed in himself.

“Well, but, you did, and now you’re a liability,” Louis jokes. It falls flat, unsurprisingly. “Did you mean it?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Harry says, shaking his head, “but it’s fine. I’ll be fine. I’m gonna get out of your hair now,” he says, making to brush past Louis to leave the bedroom.

“Oh,” Louis says, turning quickly to follow him. “Okay, um—”

“I’m sorry for dropping in on you like this,” Harry says, pausing in the living room.

“You don't have to go if you don’t want to,” Louis says, watching him carefully.

“But I should,” Harry says.

“But,” Louis says desperately, “do you want to?”

Harry hesitates, and then shakes his head. “No,” he says.

“Okay,” Louis says.

“Okay,” Harry says.

For a brief, horrifying second, Louis thinks they’re about to kiss, so he turns away, glancing toward the kitchen. “Um,” he says, “are you hungry, or anything? Do you want some coffee, or tea, or…?”

“Tea would be good,” Harry says, shuffling along behind him to the kitchen. He sits down gingerly at Louis’s kitchen table, and Louis puts the kettle on, hands shaking a little. Once he’s got enough water for two cups of tea on the stove, he turns around, leaning back against the counter and looking at Harry.

“So,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Harry looks up at him, frowning. “Um, what?”

“You just all but told me you wanted to kill yourself, so please tell me why that is,” Louis says, watching him curously.

Harry gets all red, forcing a horrifically awkward smile and looking down. “You don’t really have to care about that,” Harry says.

“No, I guess I don’t,” Louis says. “And I probably shouldn’t, but alas, I do. So, tell me,” he says.

Harry sighs, rubbing at his face a little and then turning half away, so he doesn’t have to look at Louis while he talks. “At our last show with Fearless before graduation, there was a producer in the audience,” he says, talking to the linoleum floor instead of Louis. “He pulled me aside after the show and told me I could be a star, and he wanted to help me.”

Louis already feels sick to his stomach, trying to keep from reacting too early. He hoists himself upon the counter beside the stove, and Harry waits for him to get settled, keeping his eyes on the ground and breathing slowly.

“I got so excited, Lou. But then he said that he meant only me, and I’d have to leave the band behind, and I asked if I could talk to you guys about it, but he said no. He said I couldn’t tell anyone except my parents. But he said that if I was interested, he’d write up a contract for me to look over, and I didn’t know what to do, so I just told him sure and to send the contract to me. I figured, y’know, what’s the worst that can happen? Maybe I’ll look it over and it’ll be total bullshit, anyway. So I said, yeah, go ahead. And when I told my parents, they were so supportive of me doing it, but I didn’t tell them I had to leave the band behind because I was scared they’d tell me I was a bad friend, or something, which I already knew I was.

“And then the contract arrived, and it looked too good to be true. It was just— it seemed so incredible, and my parents said we had to have a lawyer look at it and everything but I got so excited so fast I couldn’t wait, and I was eighteen, anyway, so I just signed it without telling a soul.

“I figured that I could talk them into hiring you guys, too, as my band, or something, and we could blow up like we always dreamed about. But then they said I’d have to fly out to LA the day after graduation, and I had to be alone. I couldn’t even bring my parents, because it was so official and secretive. It was so scary, but I had no choice by then, because I’d already fucked up and signed the contract.

“I probably could’ve told you guys at that point that I’d signed it, but I was so scared you’d be mad at me, so I just went to graduation and acted like everything was normal. I was going to tell you after your graduation party, Louis, I swear I was, but I couldn’t do it. I was so fucking scared, and you seemed so happy, and I couldn’t let you down. The next day, after the party, I woke up and you were still asleep, and I had to leave in a few hours and I couldn’t wake you up and tell you, I just couldn’t do it.

“So I just left. I went to LA, and then everything just happened so fast, and before I could even figure out what was going on, they released my song— your song, actually— as a single, which they told me was only a demo, and then all of a sudden it was on the radio, and I had a Twitter account and I was tweeting things about my career but it wasn’t even me tweeting, I didn’t even have access to the account. I just became a puppet, basically. They didn’t even let me go home for, like, a month, and then I was given a fake girlfriend, and all this fucking bullshit just kept coming and happening and I couldn’t control any of it.

“All I wanted to do was talk to you, but I didn’t know how to. You felt so far away, the whole _world_ felt so far away, and nothing felt real anymore. So, I just let myself go under and get swept away by all of it. You became part of that world that I got beamed out of, and I didn’t know how to get back, so I just didn’t even try.

“And then I checked my old email, for some reason, and I had about a million emails from all of you asking what the hell happened and where I’d gone, but then after the single dropped, all the emails stopped. Except,” he scoffs, shaking his head, “the ones from Perrie. She had emailed me probably thirty times telling me to eat shit and die, essentially, because I’d ruined you, and I was the worst person in the world, and how could I live with myself, and that she hoped I was happy, because if I ever came back home she would personally cut my balls off. So then I figured, y’know, I’d lost all of you for good, anyway.

“So I leaned into my new life. I tried so hard to make myself into what they wanted me to be; I tried to be straight, I tried to be a dick, I tried _everything_ , and I was just so fucking busy all the fucking time for _five fucking years_ straight, and then my contract ended.

“I thought about coming home, and trying to get in touch with you, but that didn’t seem fair to do to you. I figured everyone back here must have hated me so much for just running off, and then they offered me another contract, and I didn’t think I had any other options at that point, so I just took it.

“I just carried on without even realizing how miserable I was, and then all of a sudden I looked up and it had been ten years. I got the invitation to the reunion and I figured this was my shot, y’know, to come home and talk to you guys, finally. I was so scared. I wasn’t even going to bring Camille, but honestly, she’s more of a security blanket than a person to me these days, so I brought her just in case no one would look at me, so I didn’t have to be alone. 

“I don’t know why I acted like such a dickhead when I came over to you guys. I don’t know what was going through my head. But Perrie looked like she was gonna make good on all her promises to kill me, so I just put my guard up as a defense mechanism, I guess. I kinda was hoping to be able to talk to you that night, but then when you ran off, I couldn’t even fucking _breathe_ because, yeah, Perrie had told me how upset you were when I left, but I could never picture you actually being upset, y’know? You were always so strong, and then you couldn’t even look at me. You couldn’t even be in the same room as me, and _fuck_ , Lou, I could’ve dropped dead right then.

“And then Perrie slapped me, did she tell you that? She slapped me right in front of everyone and told me to go to hell and she went after you before I could, and I fucking — God, Louis, I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hated myself in that moment. I don’t know how to fix it, and I don’t know what to do, but I don’t want to be a person that you can’t look at. I don’t want to be a person that causes you that much pain to even be near, I don’t want anything in my life if it makes you hurt that much. I wish I could go back in time and tell Jeff to fuck off the second he got to Whitfield. I would do anything, Louis, I would do anything to be able to go back in time and avoid all of this,” he says, getting choked up again right at the end, forcing tears into Louis’s eyes, as well.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, finally looking up at him, tears dripping down his cheeks. Louis feels his own tears spill over, too, and he gets down off the counter, wiping harshly at his face. “I’m so sorry, Louis,” Harry cries, standing up out of his chair. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

Louis feels so fucking awful for him, standing there in the same clothes he was wearing last night, shaking and crying in his fucking Gucci sneakers, hair all greasy and tangled and fuck, Louis is still so mad and hurt about all of it, it still feels like a dagger in his chest when he thinks about waking up alone the morning after graduation, the gradual realization he was never going to see Harry again, the shock and heartbreak when Harry released his first song, _Louis’s_ song, and never came home. Harry’s still a fucking dick for never trying to call, or reply to any of his emails, but, fuck, Louis believes him, he understands him, and above all, he feels so fucking bad for him.

He steps forward and pulls Harry into his arms, pressing his face into his shoulder and sobbing once. Harry holds him so, so tight, hiccuping into his hair, and Louis can’t breathe, can’t stop himself from knotting his hands in Harry’s shirt, pulling so hard it’s a wonder the material doesn’t rip.

“I hate you,” Louis sobs, holding Harry a little tighter, pressing his face into Harry’s neck. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, petting at Louis’s hair and down his spine. “I’m so sorry.”

“You should be,” Louis says, taking a deep breath and making to pull away.

“I love you,” Harry says.

Louis freezes. 

“I love you so much,” Harry says, trying to keep himself from sobbing again. “I never stopped. I never stopped thinking about you, I never stopped loving you. I love you, Louis, I—”

Louis cringes away, wipes at his face with both hands and then turns back, shaking his head. “I,” he says, looking down when the sight of Harry—his Harry, his same old Harry, his beautiful, stupid Harry—becomes too much. Harry steps forward, though, and Louis’s only options are to look at his stupid, gorgeous eyes or his stupid, hideous Gucci sneakers, and Louis, for reasons he’ll never be able to explain, chooses the former.

Harry’s right here, he’s back, and it’s everything Louis’s dreamed about for ten years, _ten fucking years_ , and Louis hasn’t learned a goddamn thing. He shudders, and Harry sobs, and then, like nothing ever happened, nothing ever changed, Harry’s hands are on Louis’s hips, Louis’s lips are touching Harry’s lips, and it all falls back into place.

-

He must’ve plugged his phone back in to charge at some point last night, because when he wakes up, it’s fully charged on his bedside table, teeming with notifications when he taps it to check. He frowns and tugs it off the charger, turning the brightness all the way down so it doesn’t burn the eyeballs right out of his head as he reads through everything he missed.

Perrie: _Hiii, how’s the studio?? The girls and I are craving Chinese, if you’re in…_

Perrie: _I’m gonna assume that you’re really wrapped up at the studio and not ignoring me on purpose!! Let me know if I should save a plate for you!!! XOXO_

Perrie: _OK it’s late and I’m getting worried hellooooo_

Perrie: _Seriously can you answer me I’m gonna freak out.. You were so upset earlier so you’ve either drunken yourself into a coma or you’ve killed yourself and I can’t stand either option please text me back!!!_

Perrie: _Girls are asleep, they wanted me to tell you they love you very much. Text me in the morning, or expect me at your door before noon with the entirety of Whitfield PD…._

Louis rolls his eyes fondly, typing out a quick _sorry, fell asleep literally right after you left and missed my entire fucking session :) all good though not alcohol poisoned or dead so spare the police please!!!_

Perrie: _THANK GOD!!! Ok love you hope you’re doing good text me later if you need anything xoxoxo_

Her reply is instantaneous, like she was really waiting around for Louis’s message. It’s a good thing Louis replied when he did, though, because it’s closing in on 11 a.m., and he doesn’t doubt that Perrie would’ve had several cops banging his door down in about an hour or so if he still hadn’t answered.

He’s lucky, he thinks, so lucky to have a friend who cares so much about him, who so desperately wants what’s best for him. If Perrie could see him right now, though, she’d wring his fucking neck, and deep, deep down, Louis knows he’d deserve it. 

He puts his phone back down on the bedside table and rolls over slowly. He holds his breath, almost wishing that he’ll find, when he glances over, that the whole of yesterday was just a dream.

There’s a lump of a body under the covers beside him, breathing steadily, still asleep. Louis sighs and looks up at the ceiling, every inch of his body tingling with the urge to roll closer, wrap himself around the shape, curl up tight and go back to sleep. Maybe this is what he’s been needing for ten years now; it’s hard to think that one night, ten years ago, he went to sleep beside Harry, and only now is he finally waking up beside him again. 

He settles on his stomach, head turned toward Harry to watch the peaceful rise and fall of his back as he breathes. He’s curled up on his side facing away from Louis, and like this, he doesn’t look like Harry Styles, international popstar, award winning musician, and the current face of Gucci. He looks like Harry, the kid Louis grew up loving, the kid Louis was promised forever with, the kid that Louis’s been missing for so, so long now. Every now again he sniffles and whines, like he’s dreaming, and each little noise makes Louis’s heart clench, somehow, even after all this time.

They’re both fully clothed, which is making this feel a little less Earth-shattering than it might be otherwise. They didn’t even do anything last night; they sat around all day, hardly speaking at all, just looking at each other, being near each other, kissing every now and again like they couldn’t help themselves. Louis doesn’t know what to do now, or what he even wants to do, or what Harry wants, but he knows that any option he could possibly have is impossibly dangerous, and he’s most likely doomed no matter what he does.

Harry starts to wake up after a little while, drawing his shoulders up and breathing deep. Louis panics; he doesn’t want Harry to know that he was just lying here watching him sleep, so he slams his eyes shut before Harry can roll over, evening his breaths and pretending like he was never awake at all. Harry shifts under the blankets, tugs on them just enough so that a cool patch slides over Louis’s body, and Louis suppresses the urge to shiver, listening intently to see what Harry will do next.

Harry pauses, and then yawns and rubs at his face. He shifts a little more, slowly, like he’s getting up out of bed, and Louis’s just about to make a show of waking up, but then he realizes that Harry is moving closer to him, not away. He holds out, and then there’s a gentle press of lips against his own, just quickly, so softly Louis can’t even really be sure it happened. Harry’s climbing carefully out of bed before Louis can even react, and Louis tracks the sound of him leaving the bedroom, shuffling down the hall, and closing the bathroom door behind himself.

Louis rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling for a long few minutes. If he was having any residual doubts from yesterday, they’re gone now; that kiss wasn’t performative at all, it wasn’t to make Louis feel anything, it wasn’t _for_ Louis at all. Harry thought Louis was asleep and still gave him a good morning kiss, and Louis’s stupid heart won’t stop fluttering in his chest every time he thinks about it, and, fuck, he is well and truly fucked, isn’t he?

He can’t stop thinking about what Harry said yesterday: that he never stopped loving him. Yeah, Louis grew to hate Harry’s guts over the past few years but, in a way, he never really stopped loving Harry either. There was far too much love there, far too much history for it all to ever really go away. No matter what, Harry’s always going to have been Louis’s first and only friend since birth. No one else is ever going to be able to fill that void, and Louis’s never going to be able to fully clear out the space in his heart that he’s always had on reserve for Harry alone. 

He’s so fucked. He knows it’s a bad idea to even entertain the thought of anything happening between them now, and there’s Camille, too, and so many other things. There’s just no way that this will ever work. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t have a clue as to what his next step is now, and he doesn't know who to turn to. He knows he needs to tell Harry to leave, but he doesn’t know how to, and he really doesn’t even want to, because yesterday was the most soul-healing day Louis’s ever had in his life. He thinks that Harry could just so easily fit right back into Louis’s life, it could be like they never stopped, but there’s so much extra shit in Harry’s life now, and so much shit that happened in those ten years they spent apart that he needs to work through with Harry before they ever consider even being friends.

He rolls over onto his side to reach for his phone again, chewing the inside of his lip while he pulls up his text thread with Perrie. She’s going to be so mad at him, she’s going to yell at him for this for weeks, but he doesn’t know what else to do, he needs help, and the only person he knows who consistently knows exactly what to do is Perrie. He types out the text slowly, fingers shaking a little, and then lets it sit in the text box for a minute.

_I’m so sorry I lied to you and I think I need help_

Before he can work up the courage to hit send, the bedroom door cracks open again, and Louis looks up, finding Harry in the doorway. He smiles sleepily, closing the door behind himself as he shuffles back over to the bed, looking so, so soft and cuddly in Louis’s clothes that he borrowed to sleep in.

“Morning,” he says, sitting down on the end of the bed.

Louis looks at him for a moment, and then turns back to his phone, deleting the message and putting his phone back down. “Morning,” he says.

Harry’s still smiling, like there’s nothing wrong in the world, watching Louis like he’s some beautiful, rare animal that he’s never seen before. Louis feels like a sack of dog shit, sitting up slowly and rubbing at his face.

“Look,” he says, not quite finding the courage to meet Harry’s eyes.

“I know,” Harry says, before Louis can go on. “We need to talk about this.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, “we really do.”

“I agree,” Harry says. He pauses for a moment, and then looks up. “But— can we please wait?”

Louis blinks. “What?”

“There’s just— there are some things I need to do, like, before we talk about this,” Harry says. “I was up for hours last night thinking about it, and I— I need to take care of some things before— y’know, before anything else happens.”

“Oh,” Louis says, heart sinking. “Harry, I—”

“No,” Harry cuts him off quickly. “Please don’t say anything yet. Please, Louis,” he says, voice getting quieter as he goes on.

Louis hums quietly, nervously, and Harry shakes his head.

“If you’re gonna break my heart, fine,” Harry says. “Just, please wait, because there are some things I’ve been really needing to do for a while now, and I at least need the false hope right now to get me through them.”

“Harry, please,” Louis breathes, because Louis can’t, he cannot wait another moment, he can’t do this shit again— 

Harry crawls up the bed, settling on his knees in front of where Louis’s sitting cross-legged, back against the headboard. Harry leans in slightly, asking, and Louis’s such a fucking fool for him, he tilts his chin up, and Harry kisses him gently.

“Just,” Harry says, lips an inch from Louis’s, eyes closed. “Please.”

Louis swallows. “Okay.”

Harry plants himself in Louis’s lap, curling up smaller than he should be able to make himself, demanding to be held. Louis holds him for a few minutes, rubbing careful circles into his back; he wants to fucking cry, honestly, so he presses his face into Harry’s shoulder and tries his damnedest not to.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks, without moving from where his head is tucked into Louis’s chest.

“What?” Louis asks, voice muffled by Harry’s shirt. Louis’s shirt. Louis’s shirt on Harry’s body.

“Lou,” Harry says, glancing up at you. “I know you.”

“What?” Louis says again, only looking up when Harry sits up straight, forcing Louis to sit up, too. 

“Am I being stupid?” Harry sighs, watching him closely.

Louis frowns. “What?” he asks for the third time in a row.

“This… this isn’t okay, is it?” Harry says quietly.

Louis just stares at him, can’t possibly ask him what he means again, but he thinks they might finally be getting to the same page here.

“I am literally the most selfish person in the world,” Harry realizes.

Louis still doesn’t say anything, looking down and playing with a hangnail on his thumb.

“I always have been,” Harry says, like Louis should’ve known this. Louis really should’ve known this, and maybe, deep down, he did. “I know you think I’ve changed,” Harry says, “and I wish I could say I have, but, Lou— I’m exactly who I’ve always been, huh?” He sounds absolutely devastated, and Louis just lowers his head a little more. “I’m so fucking sorry, Louis,” Harry whispers. “I’m so sorry, I can’t— I can’t stop fucking hurting you, can I? No matter what I do,” he says, exasperated.

Louis closes his eyes and grits his teeth. He doesn’t want to be the quiet, broken type, but he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to make Harry feel better right now when he’s right, he’s absolutely right, and neither of them have a solution.

“I’m gonna go,” Harry says, climbing off the bed slowly. “I’m just gonna leave, and I promise, I’m gone. I’ll never bother you again. You deserve so much better than me, than any of this, and I just won’t let you move on,” he says, sounding absolutely devastated, so bitterly disappointed in himself.

Louis, alarmingly, feels a tear drip down his cheek, and before Harry can move another inch, he gets up off the bed and grabs Harry’s arm. He whips him around, and Harry looks scared for a moment, but then Louis just burrows into his chest.

“Don’t. You. Dare. Leave. Me. Again,” he grits out, shocking both of them to the core.

Harry takes a few seconds to unfreeze, and then his arms come down around Louis so tight, he almost crushes the life out of him. Louis hugs him back, fingernails digging into Harry’s skin through his t-shirt— fuck, _Louis’s_ t-shirt, and Louis’s so overwhelmed with Harry’s hereness, his realness, he doesn’t know what to do other than shove him away. 

“You don’t get to fucking do that,” he spits. Harry looks mortified, cheeks pinking. “You don’t get to come back here and tell me you love me and then decide that you’re bad for me and leave. _I_ decide that. Not you,” Louis says through his teeth.

“Okay,” Harry says, holding his hands up in surrender.

“You’re so fucking _manipulative_! And _complicated_! And horrible!” Louis says, shouting now, more tears dripping over his cheeks, splashing down on his shirt.

“I know,” Harry says, and his eyes are wet, too.

“Don’t say you know!” Louis shouts.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t say you’re sorry!” Louis all but screams, stopping his foot like a child.

Harry looks like he’s going to keel over and die, trembling a little. “Then,” he squeaks out, “then what should I say?”

“How about one fucking honest thing in your life?” Louis spits. “How about for one fucking time you tell me what you actually feel, what you actually want, and then maybe things won’t be so fucking fucked up anymore!”

“I am being honest with you, Louis,” Harry bites back.

“How the fuck can I tell?” Louis shouts.

“Okay,” Harry scoffs, “you want some honesty? I love you. I never stopped loving you. I’m a stupid, idiotic piece of shit, and I did horrible things to you, and I’m probably gonna do more horrible things without meaning to but I am going to do everything in my power to be better, Louis. And if you want me around, then I’ll be thrilled, and if you don’t want me around, then that’s okay, too, but I am _going_ to be a better person from here on out, and that is the only thing I can tell you for sure right now,” Harry says, voice shaking with frustration.

Louis just stares at him for a few minutes, unsure of whether he wants to kiss him or hit him, maybe both, maybe neither. He wants to cry, he knows that much, and so does Harry, judging by the way he keeps gasping in tiny breaths and rubbing at his face.

“I have to go,” Harry says, turning away sharply.

“No,” Louis says, all of the venom dropping out of his tone. “Please don’t leave,” he breathes.

Harry’s face twists like he’s losing the battle against his emotions, but he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Lou but I actually have to go,” he says quietly. “I have to catch a plane this afternoon, and my hotel room is a disaster, I have to pack, and,” he trails off, shaking his head.

“Where are you going?” Louis asks, heart sinking.

“What?” Harry asks, startled.

“Where are you flying to?” Louis demands.

Harry hesitates, and then sighs. “Paris,” he admits.

Louis feels sick. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Harry says.

“So,” Louis says, “is it still going to be like that, then?”

“Like what?” Harry frowns.

“Like how it was before?” Louis says, remembering the way Harry used to refuse to acknowledge him in public, would rather have people think he enjoyed the company of a million different girls all over him all the time over the company of his boyfriend, or best friend, or whatever Louis even was to him.

Harry looks so fucking sad, shuffling back over to where Louis’s standing. He leans in a little, like he’s going to kiss him again, and Louis just lets him, like he doesn’t have a single self-preserving cell in his body.

“I’m going to be back in one week. Okay? And then we’re going to talk about _everything_ , okay?” Harry says, holding Louis by the shoulders.

Louis sighs. “But—”

“Give me one week, Louis. Give me one week,” Harry says.

“Okay. Fine,” Louis grumbles.

Harry hugs him, and Louis thinks about not hugging him back, but at the end of the day, fuck, it feels so good to hold him, and Louis wishes it didn’t, but it does, and he doesn’t know what to do about that.

“I should change,” Harry says, when he pulls away. “So you can have your clothes back.”

“Keep them,” Louis mutters. Harry frowns, watching him. “I’ll keep yours,” Louis says, nodding to the pile of Harry’s laundry folded on the dresser.

“What?” Harry asks, smiling confusedly.

“Collateral,” Louis says.

Harry laughs, scrubbing his hands down his face. Louis cracks a smile, too, and it feels so fucking good, Louis can practically feel the mood lift in every corner of the room.

“But take your fucking Gucci shoes, I don’t want those in my house,” Louis says.

Harry laughs again, pretending to look offended. “They’re cute!” he says.

“They’re hideous,” Louis says.

“You’re cute,” Harry says, poking Louis’s cheek.

Louis’s face falls a little, mostly in surprise. He didn’t know they were back on flirting terms. They’re not back on flirting terms. _Camille_ , says a tiny voice in the back of Louis’s head. _Camille, Camille, Camille_!

“Can you not look so disgusted when I tell you you’re cute, please?” Harry teases.

“Sorry,” Louis says, forcing a smile at his feet. “It’s just, like, a lot.”

Harry purses his lips, looking down, too.

“Well,” Louis says.

“Okay,” Harry says, slipping his shoes on slowly. “So, I’ll see you in one week,” he says.

“One week,” Louis agrees.

“One week,” Harry nods, and then he’s surging forward, kissing Louis one more time. Louis makes it last a little too long, clinging to Harry even when Harry tries to pull away.

“I promise I’m coming back, Louis,” Harry says, cupping Louis’s cheeks and gently removing Louis’s mouth from his own.

“I know,” Louis says quickly. “Okay, I know.”

Harry smiles at him, kisses his cheek one more time, and then Louis walks him to the door. They don’t say anything else before Harry goes, hardly even look at each other once they’ve left the bedroom, and then Harry’s gone, and Louis’s alone once more.

Louis just stands there by the door for a while, like he’s already waiting for Harry to come back, but he knows he shouldn’t get his hopes up. There’s a really good chance Harry won’t actually come back at all; Harry hasn’t proven himself to be the most trustworthy person as of late, and, honestly, Louis still hasn’t decided if it might actually be a blessing in disguise if Harry just never shows up again.

He goes back to the bedroom after a little while and grabs his phone to text Perrie, plopping down on the edge of the bed and swallowing hard.

_Can I come over later today?_

Perrie: _Always!_

Perrie: _Could you maybe bring food though? haven’t had time to go shopping in a bit!_

Louis probably should do her whole grocery shop for her, just to start making up for what he’s about to put her through. He can’t tell her, not quite yet, but that doesn’t make him feel any less guilty about the fact that he’s actively lying to her, doing maybe the stupidest thing he could be doing right now when he knows how vehemently Perrie does not want him to be doing it.

They spend the rest of the early afternoon texting memes back and forth, though, and somehow, yesterday and this morning don’t even seem real, don’t even seem possible. Everything feels normal, maybe even more so than it usually does, and Louis decides that he will, in fact, do a whole grocery shop for Perrie, and by the time he arrives to her house with it, he’s forgotten all about the designer clothes still folded neatly on top of his dresser at home.

-

Louis makes it three days before the whole world comes crashing down around him. He’s in the studio when it happens, because he’s been feeling rather inspired lately, oddly enough, and he’s got just enough money in his pocket to book two hours in the studio and try to record as many demos as he possibly can. He’s in the zone, in the middle of recording possibly the most perfect take of something he’s ever done, while his friend Steve manages the audio equipment outside of the booth. Louis’s so focused on the music he doesn’t hear anyone come into the studio, but he certainly hears it when someone slams something against the plexiglass window, nearly startling the guitar right out of his hands. 

It’s too dark outside the booth to tell who’s out there, especially because the phone screen they’ve got pressed up against the window is so bright Louis can’t really see past it. He puts the guitar down, horrified, and Steve speaks directly into his ear from outside of the booth.

“You know this chick, Louis?” Steve asks, voice buzzing in Louis’s headphones.

The person holding the phone lowers it, and finally Louis makes out the shape of a very, very angry Perrie staring at him through the window.

“Yeah,” Louis says, heart sinking. He takes his headphones off and hangs them on the microphone stand, shuffling over to the door of the booth and stepping outside. “What the hell?” he asks, even as Perrie thrusts her phone into his face, fuming.

“Do you have anything to do with this?” she growls, shaking the phone until Louis takes it from her to read what she’s trying to show him.

It’s a gossip article, by the look of it, with a massive, blown up picture of Harry and Camille, their interlaced hands covered by a jagged white line photoshopped down the center of the photo. The headline above it reads, “HARRY STYLES AND CAMILLE ROWE SPLIT” and the tiny caption beneath the edited photo reads, “The model confirmed earlier this morning that her engagement to the 28-year-old singer has been called off.”

“Do you,” Perrie asks again, through gritted teeth, “have. Anything. To. Do. With. That.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Louis says, but his heart is racing as he scrolls through the rest of the article. He only catches a few snippets here and there, things like “Styles proposed to Rowe over a year ago at New York Fashion Week” and “The split is rumored to have happened at some point in the last two or three days.” 

“Louis,” Perrie says, snatching the phone back. “Be honest with me.”

“Honestly, Perrie,” Louis says, rolling his eyes.

“If I find out that you’re seeing him—”

“So what if I was?” Louis says, too defensive. Perrie’s jaw hardens even more. 

“Are you fucking kidding me,” she deadpans.

“I’m a grown ass man, and so is he,” Louis says. “So what if I see him?”

“Did you just forget the past ten years, or…?” Perrie scoffs.

“No,” Louis says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Even before that,” Perrie says, “did you forget how miserable he used to make you in high school?”

“Well,” Louis says, exasperated, “I’m miserable without him, and apparently I’m miserable with him, too, so I don’t really know what to do at this point, Perrie. I don’t know what to fucking do. I don’t know what you want me to do, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do! I can’t stand the thought of taking him back, but I can’t stand the idea of losing him again, either, so what the _fuck_ do you propose I do, Perrie? Should I just kill myself? Because that seems like the only fucking way to get some fucking peace anymore,” he spits.

Perrie’s staring at him, slack jawed, clearly unprepared for the outburst. Steve gets up silently and excuses himself from the room, and Louis is definitely going to make Perrie pay him back for wasting his precious studio time like this.

“He was at my apartment when you came over,” Louis admits, looking down. “And he stayed the night. We didn’t do anything, I swear to god, but he was there, Perrie, and we kissed and slept next to each other and he promised he’d come back but there were some things he had to do first, and I don’t know what to do, Perrie, I don’t know what to do,” he says, voice closing up around a lump forming in his throat the longer he talks.

“Why the fuck did you let him in?” Perrie asks. “What the fuck, Louis?”

“Because he was a mess, Perrie,” Louis says. “And he was saying all these things, like— I was, I don’t know, he was scaring me, and I felt bad for him.”

“Who fucking cares?” Perrie spits. “You should’ve left him outside to rot! You know that’s what he would have done for you,” she says.

“I loved him, Perrie,” Louis says lowly.

“I know you did,” Perrie says, a little softer now. “But there’s no way you can still love him after everything he did.”

“He said he loves me still,” Louis says.

“Louis,” Perrie says.

Louis hangs his head, resisting the sudden urge to cry, turning away from Perrie just a bit.

“Did you say it back?” Perrie asks, like she’s afraid of the answer.

“No,” Louis says.

“Did you want to?” Perrie asks.

Louis shrugs.

“Louis,” Perrie sighs, “think about how fucking awful you’ve been feeling for the past decade. Think about everything he’s put you through.”

“You make it sound like I’ve been sitting around crying about him for ten years straight. Perrie, I’ve tried to move on. I’ve tried to make a life for myself. I’ve dated, I’ve done all the shit I was supposed to do, and now he’s back, and neither of us are happy, and y’know what, maybe we could be happy now! Maybe this is the universe offering us a second chance,” he says.

Perrie shakes her head, rubbing at her temples. “Lou…”

“I know you don’t think it’s a good idea,” Louis rushes. “You think I’m making a huge mistake, and maybe I am, Perrie, but trust me, I’m not getting my hopes up for shit right now, okay? I’m not expecting him to come back and marry me and whisk me away and make me rich and famous, but until the day we graduated I never knew what it was like to not have Harry in my life and now I have an opportunity to have my best friend back, if nothing else,” he says.

“I thought I was your best friend?” Perrie says. She sounds so, so hurt, Louis wants to cry all over again.

“You are my best friend, Perrie, you know that,” Louis says. “But please put yourself in my shoes for a second.”

Perrie goes silent for a minute, glaring at the spot of carpeted floor between their feet. After a while she sighs, and then steps forward and hugs Louis tight. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again,” she says.

“I know, and I love you,” Louis says, wrapping his arms around her in return.

“If he hurts you, Louis, I swear I’ll kill him,” Perrie says. “Even if you don’t want me to, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself.”

“I’m not gonna let him hurt me again, Perrie. I’m never gonna let him hurt me again. There is no hurt that he hasn’t already inflicted on me, and I’m stronger now,” Louis says.

Perrie squeezes him tighter, sighing into his ear. “I love you so much, you stupid, stupid bitch,” she says.

Louis laughs, pressing his face into her neck. “Thank you for caring about me so much, Perrie,” he says.

“It’s tough work, but somebody’s gotta do it,” Perrie says.

“I love you,” Louis grins. “Now, please get the fuck out of here, and send Steve back in. You owe me a dollar fifty for every minute you just monopolized.”

Perrie all but runs, blowing him a kiss from the doorway and letting herself out. Steve shuffles back in a few minutes later like nothing even happened, and Louis slips back into the booth, but he doesn’t record a single usable take for the rest of the session. His brain is swirling with those photos, that headline, those snippets of information from the article. He wonders if that was what Harry had to go do, dump his fiance so he could feel less guilty about running around with Louis. He’s good at that, Louis thinks, making himself feel less guilty about things he does.

-

The second Louis gets home from the studio, he pulls out his phone, falling onto his back on the couch and opening up his text thread with Harry. He figures he should probably save his number at some point, so he procrastinates for a few minutes by creating a contact for him, and then finally types out a message.

_Hey.. heard some news today u ok?_

He watches his phone once the message is sent, diligently ignoring the string of old texts above the one he just sent. His heart is pounding, inexplicably, and it only gets worse when his phone screen flickers and then Harry’s name appears in big white letters on the top. He startles so much he almost drops the phone, but once he gets a handle on himself, he accepts the call, staring up at the ceiling.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Harry says, sounding far away, physically and metaphorically.

“Everything okay?” Louis says.

“Yeah,” Harry says, and then there's a bit of a shuffle. “I’m just in the middle of packing up all my shit in my Paris apartment,” he says, voice clearer, like he’s finally picked up the phone.

“You have an apartment in Paris?” Louis squeaks.

“Yeah,” Harry says awkwardly. “Well, it’s Camille’s, but we’ve been sharing it since we started splitting our time between Paris and LA. I’m shipping all her stuff back to her when I get back to LA,” he explains.

“Sounds complicated,” Louis says.

“Eh, not really. She’s actually taking it pretty well,” Harry says.

“Really?” Louis asks.

“Yeah,” Harry mutters. “We talked the other night when I got here, and she said she kinda expected it.”

“Huh,” Louis says belatedly.

“Yeah,” Harry says again.

“What— um, what did you tell her?” Louis asks.

Harry pauses for a few seconds. “What?”

“I mean, you don’t have to tell me,” Louis rushes, “but, like. What did you say to her when you ended it?”

Harry sighs on the other end of the line. “Just that I wasn’t sure it was what I wanted,” he says. “And that going home had made me realize a few things, and she said she understood. She was upset, obviously, really upset, but she said she had a feeling something in my past was coming back to me.”

Louis’s quiet for a moment. “She sounds like a nice girl,” he says. _She doesn’t deserve this_ , he thinks.

Harry sighs again. “Yeah.” Neither of them say anything for a long few minutes, and then Harry adds, “She is. That’s why she deserves someone who actually loves her.”

Louis’s heart does something funny, a painful little backflip into his throat.

“Look,” Harry says, “I know I promised I’d be back in a week so we could talk, but Camille wants her stuff sent back immediately from LA, so I’m leaving Paris tomorrow to fly back to LA and then I have to pack all of her stuff and ship it to her, and I’m afraid it’s going to take forever,” he says.

Louis’s heart sinks back down to his chest, where it belongs. “So you’re breaking your promise?” he says.

“What?” Harry asks, startled.

“The first promise you’ve made to me since coming back into my life, and you’re already letting me down,” he says.

“Wait, no,” Harry says quickly.

“Yeah?” Louis snaps.

“I was gonna say, I was thinking you could come out to LA for a few days and stay with me. We can talk, and you can, like, see where I’ve been all this time,” Harry says.

“You want me to come to LA?” Louis splutters.

“Yeah,” Harry says. Louis can hear the nonchalant shrug in his voice.

“You just wanna show me how much money you have now, so I’ll hurry up and fall back in love with you,” Louis says, only half teasing.

Harry pauses, and then huffs an unsure laugh. “I swear that’s not it,” he says.

“I was kidding,” Louis says.

“Genuinely,” Harry says, like Louis said nothing at all, “I think I’m just gonna be exhausted once I get all of Camille’s stuff out, and I kinda don’t wanna come back to Whitfield— you know how fucking inconvenient it is to get there from the airport,” he says.

“Yeah,” Louis says, mind racing.

“So will you come out?” Harry asks hopefully. “I’ll pay for your flight, and everything, and I’ll make sure the guest room is all set up for you to stay in, and you can stay as long as you like, and we can just, y'know, try and work on things,” he says.

“Yeah I…” Louis says. “I don’t know.”

“What?” Harry asks. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, LA is just… scary, I guess,” he says. He’s really thinking that it’s a long way away if things don’t end up working out, and there’s no way he can pay for his own flight home if Harry decides he wants nothing to do with him. It’s asking him to put a lot of faith into the belief that they’ll be able to work things out, and he’s not sure he’s quite ready to do that.

“Oh, that’s okay, I can just come to Whitfield then,” Harry says, and he’s trying to sound casual, but he sounds put out. “It’s fine, it’s totally fine.”

“Are you sure?” Louis asks.

“Yeah,” Harry says quickly. “That gives me, like, a day to get all of Camille’s stuff packed and shipped, and I’ll have to turn around and get right on a plane to Boston, but it’s fine, if that’s what you prefer,” he says.

“Well, now I feel like an asshole,” Louis says quietly.

“No, seriously,” Harry says, chuckling. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll come back out there. It’s what I promised, anyway.”

“Y’know what,” Louis says, “no, it’s fine. I’ll come to LA.”

“Really?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, whatever, it’ll be like a mini vacation, or something,” Louis says.

“Sick,” Harry says brightly.

“Maybe I could stay in a hotel, though,” Louis says, before his brain can catch up to him. A hotel. That’s a good idea, actually. It gives him a little bit more autonomy, makes it a little easier to stomach going all that way just to _maybe_ work things out.

“You can just stay with me,” Harry suggests.

“Yeah, but,” Louis says, “I don’t know.”

“Wait, what?” Harry says quietly.

“Uh,” Louis stutters.

“Oh,” Harry bounces back quickly. “I mean, it’s fine if you prefer to stay in a hotel, that’s absolutely fine! I don’t mind at all! There’s a beautiful one right down the street, and I’ll book you the best suite, but, like, I must admit, I’m a bit wounded,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says, closing his eyes. “It’s just— a lot, right now.”

Harry’s quiet for a minute. “Yeah, okay, I get it.”

“I’ve spent ten years trying to get over you and suddenly it’s like, y’know, here we are again,” Louis says.

“Yeah,” Harry says.

“Like, it’s— weird. It’s really weird to even be talking to you,” Louis admits.

“I know,” Harry says.

“I literally thought I’d never see you again, Harry. I literally thought you were gone forever,” Louis presses.

“I know, I know,” Harry sighs. “And I’m sorry.”

“Is it weird that it feels like nothing has really changed that much?” Louis asks.

“It hasn’t,” Harry says. “Not between us. It’ll never change between us.”

Louis’s silent for a minute, thinking that over, and then something thuds in the background on Harry’s end and Harry inhales sharply.

“Uh, listen, I have to go,” he says quietly. “Camille just came in.”

It’s such a vicious reminder of how much things actually have changed, Louis thinks, that Harry’s ex-fiance should walk in while Louis’s sitting here trying to chart the map between where things went wrong between Harry and himself and where they are now.

“Oh, okay, um, text me later about LA, I guess,” Louis says.

“Okay,” Harry breathes, “I’ll call before I buy your ticket or anything, and we can figure out a time.”

“Great,” Louis says, voice tight.

“Okay, cool,” Harry says. “Bye, Lou.”

“Bye,” Louis squeaks.

Harry hangs up hardly a second later, and Louis pulls the phone away from his ear to check his world clock. He finds it a bit concerning that it’s past 1am in Paris and Camille _just_ came home while Harry’s packing his things, and as hard as he tries not to, he pictures the scene, pictures Camille, a little drunk and a lot sad, breaking down in Harry’s arms, begging him not to leave the way Louis begged just the other day. It makes him feel disgusting, makes him want to crawl out of his skin and burn it, he hates it, hates himself, hates Harry, hates the whole fucking thing.

He gets up before he can dig himself too deep into that hole and has some dinner, takes a shower, and then stands in front of his closet for twenty minutes and looks at all of his clothes, thinking about what he’ll bring to LA.

He lets his mind wander a bit as he stares into the closet, eyes stuck on the hoodie Harry had clung to just the other day, still crumpled on the floor where Louis had tossed it. Is he fucking crazy for doing this? Is he absolutely insane for agreeing to fly all the way across the country to have a conversation that could probably be just as easily had over the phone, with the man who’s been dangling the pieces of his own broken heart over his head for the past decade the way a child teases a dog with a milkbone?

He brushes the thought off like a fly, shaking his head at himself. _Whatever_ , he thinks, _I’m going on an all expenses paid vacation to LA, and I might get my Harry back at the end of it._

Well. That’s new. His Harry? _His_ Harry? But, like, why not? Harry always was _his_ Harry, wasn’t he? He was always Louis’s, and Louis was always Harry’s. From the moment they were born, hell, maybe from the moment they were conceived, they were meant for each other. Playmates, best friends, bandmates, boyfriends, partners in crime, inseparable.

His Harry. The thought really shakes him, for some reason, and he can’t stop repeating it in his head. It’s been a long time since he’s allowed himself to think of Harry as _his_ , but now that he’s considered it, he can’t get it out of his mind. He feels entitled to Harry, somehow, even if they don’t end up falling back in love, or— whatever. He deserves this, he thinks, this chance to get some semblance of his life back, because his world has sucked since Harry dropped out of it and maybe, just maybe, this is his chance at getting some sort of resolution, if not a fairytale happy ending.

Truth be told, though, he knows that that’s unlikely. This is going to go one of two ways: he’s either going to cave and take Harry back, or Harry’s finally going to make the final blow and Louis is going to get his heart completely, irreparably broken. There’s no other option. He’s not even sure which option is worse, really, but _god_ , what he wouldn't do to have Harry back.

It’s like the best case scenario he never let himself imagine before, but goddamnit, life would be so sweet if he could be with Harry again. Maybe he’d finally have some closure; maybe he could finally stop feeling like half a person all the time, if the other half of him finally came home. He’s so, so worried that even that won’t be what he wants at this point, though, that Harry’s life is just too complicated for him to get involved with now. He’s so scared that it’s going to be how it was before, in that he’ll be Harry’s dirty little secret again, but he guesses they’ll have time to discuss all of that in LA, anyway, so he pushes it out of his head for a little while and decides that whatever will happen will happen, and there’s nothing he can do about it now.

He closes his closet door and silently sets about cleaning his apartment up a bit, because it’s gone almost back to its default state of absolute disaster since he cleaned it so thoroughly a little over a week ago. What a week it’s been, he thinks, collecting all the empty bottles in the kitchen and bringing them to the recycling bin at the end of his hallway, dropping them in with a crash that makes his bones ache.

If Perrie was upset with him for speaking to Harry again in the first place, she’s going to absolutely crucify him for this, but Louis can’t even find it within himself to care. He’s going to LA, for fuck’s sake, and if he comes back with anything more than a broken heart, he’ll be perfectly alright.

-

The only part of LA Louis cares to see when he first touches down is the bathroom, because Harry put him in first class and he went a little too crazy on the complimentary drinks, and something about airplane toilets is just far too freaky, he can never actually make himself, y’know, looking down into that weird little bowl in a room so small he can touch both walls with his elbows—

The relief is immediate once he finally gets to the men’s room at LAX, a real urinal, surprisingly clean for an airport. Maybe LA isn’t as bad as he expected, he thinks, as he finishes his business and heads for the baggage claim. Of course, he’s only been in the city for about ten minutes now, and he has an indefinite amount of time to change his mind. Harry didn’t bother booking a return flight, because they didn’t know how long this was going to take, a few days or a week or several weeks or— Louis’s stomach turns at all the ways this could go wrong, and he thinks distantly that he might need the bathroom again before he leaves the airport, but then he spots his bag coming around on the conveyor belt and he thinks, well, no turning back now.

When Perrie dropped him off at the airport a few hours ago, she hugged him tight and then pinched his nipple and then hugged him again, nails digging into his back. “I truly, truly hope,” she’d said, quietly, right into his ear, “that this works out the way you want it to.”

The thing is, though, Louis doesn’t even know how he wants this to turn out. He hasn’t really let himself think about it, honestly, because there’s so many ways that he _doesn’t_ want this to turn out, and every time he starts thinking about what might come of this trip, he comes up with way more negatives than positives.

It’s hot as fuck when Louis finds his way out of the airport, scanning the curb outside of the arrivals gate for a familiar mop of curls, or maybe an exceptionally ridiculous pair of sunglasses, maybe a hand full of brightly colored fingernails waving him down. He doesn’t find any of those things, though; he finds a man in a short sleeve button-down and well-tailored dark jeans holding a paper sign that says ‘Louie Tomlinson’ and Louis trudges over.

“Mr. Tomlinson,” the man says, bowing his head. Louis wonders if this man actually knows who he is, or if he would’ve greeted any guy that walked up to him like that. 

“That’s me,” Louis says. 

“Apologies for the underwhelming greeting,” the man says, tilting his sunglasses down and giving Louis an amused smile. He speaks with some kind of fancy, probably fake accent, and Louis doesn’t much care for him. “Mr. Styles would have liked to have picked you up himself, but he’s a bit tied up at the minute.”

“No worries, I guess,” Louis says, hoisting his duffel bag up higher on his shoulder. The man reaches out and takes it from him without a word, and Louis almost protests, until he realizes that this is this man’s job, to carry his shit and drive him around and make him feel like some kind of special delivery; maybe that’s all he is.

The man — driver, Louis presumes — leads him to a shiny black sedan parked a few cars down the curb. It’s got tinted windows and everything, and Louis’s not really a car guy, but he’d be willing to bet this car costs more than he pays for rent in a year. He slides into the backseat while the driver places his beat-up duffel in the trunk like it’s made of precious stone.

It takes about forty-five minutes to get to Harry’s house, and there’s a good stretch of the drive where Louis can see the beach through the tinted windows of the car. Maybe, if things go okay, Louis will make Harry take him to the beach at some point. Growing up in western Massachusetts doesn’t present a lot of opportunity for beach days outside of the four hour drive to the Cape, but Louis’s always liked the ocean, wonders if Harry likes living so close to it now.

When the car finally rolls to a stop a while later, Louis shifts over to look between the seats through the windshield. He’s faced with a massive gate, the heavy duty security kind; the driver punches a long string of digits into the keypad on the post, and then the gate swings open on its own, revealing— well, the ugliest house Louis’s ever seen, maybe.

It’s overly modern, all sleek lines and harsh, shiny white siding. Even the landscaping looks sharp and severe, hedges trimmed so neatly they look like video game renders, and grass so green it makes Louis a little sick to look at. The car rolls slowly up the black pavement driveway, pulling around the circle in front of the house and parking just outside the front walkway.

Louis makes to get out of the car, but before he can even finish pulling the door handle, the driver is there, tugging the door open for him and holding it wide. Louis smiles at him awkwardly and climbs out, staring up at the massive house before him as the driver scurries around to collect his bag from the trunk.

“Oh, I can take it,” Louis says, reaching for the bag, but the driver pretends not to have heard him, giving him a polite grin and leading the way to the front door. Louis rolls his eyes a little and follows him, hanging back while the driver rings the bell.

It takes a minute or two, but eventually the door is pulled open, and Louis almost expects to see some other servant or housemaid or someone standing in the doorway, but it’s Harry, a little flushed, in a t-shirt and joggers, the very top of his hair pulled up in a pink elastic on top of his head like a strawberry stem.

“Oh,” Harry says, eyes falling on Louis. “You’re not who I— you’re earlier than I thought,” he stutters.

“Next to no traffic, sir,” the driver says cheerfully. “It was a quick, pleasant trip.”

“Huh,” Harry says, still stuck on Louis. “Okay, well, come in,” he says, stepping aside.

The driver motions Louis in first, and Louis ducks his head, stepping up over the threshold and around Harry. He doesn’t look up in time to see Harry shut the door on the driver, but he’s got Louis’s duffel in his hands, still watching Louis closely.

“Cool house,” Louis says, eyes drifting up toward the ceiling, which seems as far away from him as the sky itself, hanging miles above his head.

“Thanks,” Harry says, sliding Louis’s bag over his shoulder. “I think I’m gonna sell it.”

Louis startles a little, looking back down at Harry. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “It’s just, like, way too big, isn’t it? I’m only one person, I certainly don’t need this much space. And, honestly, it’s kind of ugly, isn’t it?” he says.

Louis shrugs one shoulder, glancing around. It’s not exactly ugly, he guesses, but it’s nice in a way he can’t picture Harry liking. Harry’s mom’s house in Whitfield was so cozy, small and warm and decorated from corner to corner at all times with a million mementos and knick knacks, evidence of a cherished life. This place is just, well, not that, and Louis shrugs again.

“I loved my Paris apartment so much,” Harry says wistfully. “It was quaint, roomy and pretty big but so much smaller than this place, so much more, I don’t know, homey,” he says. “But that place is Camille’s now, y’know? I was thinking of trying to find something like that for myself, and getting rid of this monstrosity,” he says.

“Oh,” Louis says, smiling awkwardly. “Yeah, makes sense.”

“Anyway,” Harry says, cheeks flushing a little. “Sorry I couldn’t come with Ridgeley to pick you up,” he says. _Ridgeley_ , Louis thinks, _really_? “I really wanted to be finished with all this by this morning, but that clearly didn’t happen, so I sent him to get you and I was trying to have it finished before you got here, but,” he sighs, gesturing at all the boxes piled near the front door. Louis notices them for the first time, and Harry clears his throat awkwardly. “They’re supposed to be here any minute to get it, the shipping people, I mean. I thought you might be them, actually, when you arrived,” Harry says.

“Right,” Louis says.

“I really didn’t want her stuff to still be here when you got here,” Harry says, quietly, but quickly enough that Louis knows he’s rambling, can’t stop talking until Louis changes the subject.

“Yeah,” Louis says, turning away from the boxes and looking up at Harry. “Hey, so, uh, I noticed I’m not currently in a hotel,” he says.

Harry flushes a little deeper, all the way up to his ears. “Oh,” he says, “yeah, uh, I’ll take you over myself after the shipping people come, and you can check in and everything,” he says.

“Oh, okay,” Louis says, looking down. He doesn’t know what answer he was looking for, but he doesn’t think that was it.

“I’ll leave your stuff in the living room so they don’t confuse it with the stuff for Camille,” Harry says, nodding over Louis’s shoulder. “Follow me.”

Louis follows him through the front hall and then through a sparsely decorated sitting area, all the way toward the back of the house. The living room is massive, with the grandest fireplace Louis’s ever seen, despite the fact that he’s almost positive it doesn’t get cold enough in southern California to require a fireplace. This room is hardly decorated, too; it’s so bright and white and square Louis almost can’t keep his eyes open, squinting around the room.

“Wow,” he says. “Camille must have had a lot of stuff, huh?”

Harry frowns, putting Louis’s bag down on the couch. “What?”

“This place looks like it’s been ransacked,” Louis says, gesturing at the empty mantlepiece over the fireplace; there’s exactly one piece of art hanging on the wall, but it looks like a stock photo, and there’s almost nothing lying around, nothing decorating the coffee table, not even a blanket or throw pillow on the black leather couch.

“Oh, actually, uh, that’s kinda how it always looks,” Harry says haltingly. “She, uh, she didn’t really have anything in here.”

Louis pauses. “How long have you lived here?”

“Three years,” Harry says quietly.

Louis thinks about Harry’s childhood bedroom, covered in pictures, posters, art, toys and ticket stubs and photobooth strips and participation ribbons from soccer, so much stuff that he had to rearrange it all to free up space every time he wanted to hang something else. He loved collecting stuff and displaying memories, loved his space to tell the story of his life, and it’s almost painful to imagine him here for the past three years, with nothing to look at, nothing to remind him of who he is.

“You were always so into decorating as a kid,” Louis says, voice quiet, a little strained. He doesn’t quite know how to put all of that into words.

“It’s hard to decorate a place this big,” Harry shrugs. “That's another reason why I want to move.”

“Well,” Louis says, “that makes sense. Where are you thinking of moving to?” he asks.

“Um,” Harry says, looking around the room like his new house is in here somewhere, hiding behind all of the nothing. “I don’t know,” he says.

“Are you gonna stay in LA, you think?” Louis prompts, frowning.

“Well, yeah, I have to, for work,” Harry says. “But I was also thinking of maybe buying or renting something like, y'know, closer to home” he says pointedly. The _given how this turns out_ hangs silently in the air. “Maybe,” he adds.

“Cool,” Louis says, the only thing he can make his mouth say.

The doorbell rings, blessedly, before either of them can say anything else, and Harry perks up. “Oh, that’s the shipping people,” he says, heading back the way they came, toward the front door. “This shouldn’t take long, I just have to make sure they get everything in the truck,” he says, disappearing from the living room without another word. Louis can hear his footsteps echoing all the way back to the front door through the cavernous house.

Louis uses the free time to explore a little bit, wandering around the living room first. Upon further inspection, the picture hanging on the wall is of Harry himself, a vertical shot from the back of a crowded theater. Harry’s on the stage, barely bigger than Louis’s thumb, and the rest of the tall frame is filled with the dark silhouettes of his fans, captured forever in various poses of excitement, arms stretched above their heads, phones in hands, a million tiny images of Harry reflected on phone screens all over the photograph. Louis spends a few minutes looking at it, wondering who these people are, what they’re doing now, how’d they’d feel to know that their likeness is, apparently, the only piece of art Harry has displayed in his home.

Once the living room begins to depress him, he wanders around the corner, finding the kitchen at the very back of the house. He starts snooping in there, pulls open the cabinet next to the fridge and peeks inside, finding a stack of plain white plates and bowls. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, exactly, but this definitely isn’t it. The kitchen, like the rest of the house, is so stark white, almost clinical looking, and it makes Louis feel wrong, out of place. He’s always associated Harry with warm tones, yellows and oranges, earthy tones and bright colors, and this place is so black and white, harsh and empty and much, much too clean. It’s upsetting, in a weird way, how absent of Harry’s personality this place is. Maybe he doesn’t really know Harry anymore, but he likes to think that he does, at least, and he doesn’t see an ounce of Harry in this house. 

He only finds a bathroom and a pantry off the kitchen, so he wanders back out to the living room and down the hall, peeking through the first doorway he sees. It looks like an office space, converted into a music room, and for the first time since Louis got here, he feels like he could actually be in Harry’s house. There’s more of Harry in here than Louis’s seen since their senior year of high school; the room is painted a warm yellow color, which makes the whole room appear to be glowing in the late afternoon sunshine seeping in through the windows. There’s a colorful woven rug on the floor, orange and blue and green all braided together, and it makes Louis smile to know he was right when he was thinking in the kitchen about all the colors that feel like Harry.

There’s a beautiful grand piano at the center of the room, an absurd number of guitars lining two of the four walls of the room, and all sorts of various beautiful instruments strewn about. Louis hasn’t played piano in a while — he finds it easier to write with a guitar, honestly — but he figures that, as long as he’s visiting Harry, he might as well pay a trip to the past, as well. He sits down gingerly at the piano and rests his fingers over the keys, listening for a moment to make sure Harry isn’t close before he starts playing.

He plays random chords, at first, until it turns into something like a melody, something he’s never heard before and will probably never be able to remember the next time he tries to recall it. Maybe he should try writing at a piano sometime soon, he thinks, because this is nice, more fun than he remembers. He doesn’t have a piano at home, or even a keyboard, but he thinks he’ll save up, maybe, and get one for himself.

He loses track of time playing around, muscle memory taking over the longer he plays. It’s funny to think that he didn’t have a shred of piano experience back in high school, when they first started the band, but now he knows the keys so intimately, he hardly has to think at all to make music happen.

Eventually, Louis can feel eyes on his back, and knows that Harry has found him. He looks over his shoulder to find Harry leaning in the doorway, a couple of loose curls falling out of the ridiculous sprig atop his head.

“I’ve been looking for you for ten minutes,” Harry says, pushing off the doorframe and shuffling into the room. “I thought maybe you ran away.”

Louis smiles, looking back down at the piano. “I did,” he says quietly.

Harry sits down beside him on the piano bench, and it really isn’t big enough for two, their thighs pressed together, but Louis doesn’t move. “It makes me happy that you still play,” Harry says, nodding at the piano keys.

“I don’t, really, but I might start again,” Louis admits.

“Why’d you stop?” Harry asks.

Louis shrugs. “My keyboard broke probably 8 years ago, or something, and I couldn’t afford to get a new one,” he says.

Harry frowns at him, looking guilty, for some reason, and before he can make an ass of himself by saying something like _you should’ve reached out, I’d have bought you a new one_ he nods over Harry’s shoulder at the wall of guitars. “You have a lot of fuckin’ guitars,” he says.

“Yeah,” Harry sighs, following Louis’s gaze. “Brands just send them to me so I can promote them,” he says, like that’s a bad thing.

Louis stares at him. “Sounds tough,” he deadpans.

Harry laughs, shrugging one shoulder. “You can have one, if you want,” Harry says. There it is, Louis thinks, that infamous guilt complex of Harry’s that he was trying to avoid. “I truly have way too many,” Harry adds.

Louis smiles, shaking his head. “I don’t need your charity,” he says sweetly. 

Harry flushes, face falling a little. “Oh, I wasn’t trying—”

“I know,” Louis interrupts him, “and I appreciate it, but don’t you think you’ve done enough for me?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry,” Harry says quickly. It hangs in the air for a minute, both of them looking down, and then Harry shifts, turning toward Louis again. “Y’know,” he says, “I was only ever trying to help you.” Louis rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t get a chance to call bullshit. “If there had been a single thing I could’ve done to help you out, Louis, I would’ve done it. But I didn’t know what the fuck to do, so I just tried to do what I could,” Harry says.

“I didn’t need your help,” Louis says lowly.

“But I needed to help you,” Harry says.

“I never asked, Harry,” Louis says. “I never wanted anything from you.”

“Okay, but,” Harry huffs, frustrated, “I _wanted_ to do it.”

“That doesn’t fucking matter,” Louis says, matching Harry’s tone. “You didn’t actually ever fucking help me, anyway.”

“No?” Harry scoffs.

“No,” Louis says, jaw clenched. “You only fucking made yourself feel better, didn’t you?”

“That’s not what it was about,” Harry says, rolling his eyes.

“I doubt that,” Louis laughs, “because you didn’t do a goddamn thing for me except feed into and extend my absolute fucking misery,” he says.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Harry asks.

“You made me think things were gonna be okay!” Louis says, shouting suddenly, before he can stop it. Harry looks startled, but _good_ , he should be. _News flash_ , Louis thinks. “You made me think that things were gonna start turning around for me, and then you disappeared and left me wondering what the fuck happened and why my luck wouldn’t continue. I’d sell a song, think my skills were improving, my luck was turning, my big break was approaching, and then I wouldn’t sell another song for years! I could never understand what the fuck was happening, why nothing ever seemed to stick. And instead of ever reaching out to me or trying to actually do anything for me that would’ve been helpful, you just hid from me, and made sure I stayed under your fucking thumb where you like to keep me,” he spits.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Harry asks, but his voice is lower, darker.

“Look me in my fucking eyes,” Louis says, turning to face Harry fully, sideways on the piano bench, “and tell me that you didn’t buy my songs because you pitied me and felt guilty for what you did to me.”

“Of fucking course I did it because I felt guilty!” Harry says, exasperated.

“Then that’s the fucking problem!” Louis shouts. “I thought that someone bought my songs because they were _good_ , not because I had some guardian fucking angel with a guilt complex!”

“They were good songs, Louis!” Harry shouts back. “You fucking placed on the charts!”

“That’s not the point!” Louis hisses.

“Okay, alright, I’m sorry I did it, is that what you want to hear?” Harry asks.

“You’re not fucking sorry you did it,” Louis says, “you’re still proud of yourself for it.”

“You’re right, I’m more sorry I told you about it,” Harry mutters.

Louis thinks he could actually strike Harry in this moment, so he gets up before he has the chance, walking around the room a few times to cool down. Harry stays where he is on the piano bench, and Louis gets as far away from him as he possibly can without leaving the room, sitting down hard in the wicker chair beside the window and putting his head in his hands.

It’s quiet for a moment, and then, “Can I ask you something?”

Louis doesn’t look up. “What?”

“Be absolutely blunt with me,” Harry says. “What’s your best case scenario right now?”

Louis pauses for a moment, and then finally looks at him. “What do you mean?”

“If this whole thing could turn out exactly how you want, then how does it turn out?” Harry asks.

Louis narrows his eyes. “Why should I tell you?” he asks. “So that you can make it all appear to come true and then snatch it back and use it to feed your own ego?”

Harry rolls his eyes, getting up off the piano bench. Louis thinks he’s going to storm off, or maybe start another yelling match, but instead, Harry plops down on the floor at Louis’s feet. “My best case scenario is that we calmly talk this all out, air all of our grievances and work through them, lay all our cards on the table and put them in order. And then we’ll decide what role we need to play in each other’s lives from here on out,” he says. “What’s yours?” Louis is quiet for a minute; when did Harry become the adult in this situation?

“The same, I guess,” Louis mumbles.

Harry rests his chin on Louis’s knee, and Louis pets at his head absently, without even thinking about. “Can I ask you something?” he says, like Harry asked him a moment before.

“Anything,” Harry whispers.

“When you left—” he cuts off when Harry flinches, startled by the way Harry squeezes his eyes shut. Louis has to swallow before he goes on, keeping his eyes glued on Harry’s face, unwilling to miss a single detail of his reaction. “When you left,” he starts again, “what was I to you?”

Harry frowns, peeling his eyes open to look up at him. “What do you mean?”

“How did you think of me right after you left?” Louis asks, pulling his hand out of Harry’s hair and tucking it under his own thigh.

“I don’t understand,” Harry breathes, shaking his head.

“I think the hardest part, for me, was the first few weeks. Having no idea where you went, and not knowing if you were my boyfriend, or, y’know, what to say when people asked,” Louis says. “Even after I realized you were gone for good, I just, like, never knew what you were to me or, even worse, what I was to you,” he says. “I didn’t know if you still thought of me as your boyfriend, or if I even was, or how I’d ever know. I mean, I figured, after a while, that we were done, but it never felt, like, real, y’know?”

“I,” Harry blinks, looking down. “I dont know.”

“Did you even think about it?” Louis asks quietly.

Harry doesn’t move for a second or two. “I—”

“Did you ever think about me?” Louis asks.

“Of course I did, Louis,” Harry says, looking up to meet his eye. “I’ve already told you that I thought about you all the time, especially in the beginning. All I wanted in the world was to call you and beg for your forgiveness, but I— I guess I didn’t know either, y’know, what we were. I figured you’d be so mad at me you’d just break up with me anyway if I called, and I couldn’t fucking bear that, so I just left it.”

Louis wants to cry, so he tips his head back a little, staring up at the bright white ceiling of the room.

“And then they started bringing in all the girlfriends and whatnot,” Harry goes on belatedly, “and I figured that you’d figure we were over. I kept an eye on your Facebook, and you got a new boyfriend after a while, and I was so fucking heartbroken.” Louis remembers that; Aiden was hardly his boyfriend, but Louis was so desperate to move on once Harry started becoming a big star, walking around with his cute model girlfriend, Louis found the first boy who would take him and clung to him for his life. They only dated a few weeks, but Louis left his relationship status on ‘taken’ online for months afterward just to make himself feel better. “I cried for about two months,” Harry says, drawing Louis back out of his head, “but I knew there was nothing I could do.”

“You still could’ve called,” Louis croaks. Harry doesn’t say anything. “You could’ve called at any point and I would have— I don’t even know, whatever you wanted, I would’ve done it, Harry,” he breathes.

“I didn’t know I had that choice,” Harry says, choked up, too. “I didn’t know I was allowed to reach back into that world I’d left behind.”

“Can I ask another question?” Louis asks.

“You can ask as many questions as you want to, Louis,” Harry says.

“Why’d you get married?” Louis asks.

Harry doesn’t even breathe, he just bursts into tears without a second’s pause, burying his face in Louis’s lap and sobbing. Louis freezes, watching in horror, but something seems to have broken inside of Harry; he’s clawing at Louis’s legs like he’s going to try and climb him and Louis feels himself sinking before he can think of anything else to do, sliding right down onto the floor with Harry and pulling him into his arms.

Harry cries into his neck for a little while, like the subject is too painful to even think about. Louis’s about to drop it, to tell him he doesn’t have to answer, they can forget it, but then Harry gasps in a breath and starts talking. “I don’t know why I did it,” he whimpers. “She was just for publicity at first, and then she said she had feelings for me, real feelings, like, and we’d already been fake dating for so long, I figured that was my chance to finally throw my entire old life away, you, and everything else, and I just lost my entire mind and proposed to her. She said yes, and I kept trying to force myself to love her, and we got married and I still couldn’t love her, Lou. I faked it for two fucking years, and then she said she wanted to have kids with me, and I freaked out, and divorced her.

“It was such a huge deal, it was on the fucking _news_ , it was so horrible. People thought I was a fucking monster, Louis, and I _was_! My team decided to feed into all the negative publicity because, y’know, any publicity is good publicity, and so they just gave me girlfriend after girlfriend after girlfriend, after the divorce. The public thought I was a player, and a dickhead, and they fucking ate it up. 

“I was so fucking depressed, I hated all of it, hated every single girl they brought into my life, every single day I had to go around pretending I was some horny piece of shit and not a heartbroken one. And then I met Camille on my own at a party, and she was flirting with me, and she was the type of girl that my management would set me up with, anyway, gorgeous and sweet and an up and coming model, so I decided to take things into my own hands. I started dating her before they could give me another fake girlfriend, and it worked out really well, y’know? Because bad boy Harry Styles was finally settling down again, and princess Camille was the beautiful girl who could tame me. Everyone loved us, and yet I still couldn’t fucking fall in love with her, just like Kendall. But it was the first fucking thing in my life that I ever had control over, and I couldn’t let that go, so I proposed to her just to prove a point, I guess. But I didn’t want to marry her, Louis. We’d been engaged for a year and a half when I ended it last week, and we never even started planning the wedding,” he says, wiping harshly at his face.

“Jesus,” Louis breathes.

“I thought that if I could make a new life without you, I could forget about you, because I thought I’d lost you for good, anyway. I never breathed a word of you to anyone, even when I was married to Kendall and she asked me to take her to Whitfield and show her around. I just invented all these stories and people and I never told her the truth about anything, not because I was ashamed of you, but because I was ashamed of what I did to you,” Harry admits. 

“Wow,” Louis says, can’t think of a single other thing to say.

“I'm so sorry, Louis,” Harry says, voice thick with tears.

“I know you are,” Louis says.

“Be honest with me,” Harry says, wiping at his eyes again. “Do you ever think you can forgive me?”

Louis doesn’t say anything for a minute, closing his eyes.

“You can say no, Louis. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, anyway.”

Louis still doesn’t say anything. Harry hiccups.

“But I will never, ever, ever stop working to try and earn it,” Harry says.

Louis breathes in and out, in and out, very, very slowly, trying to keep himself together, even as Harry starts to cry again.

“Just tell me what to do, Louis, and I’ll do it,” Harry says, pressing his face into Louis’s chest. “I just don't know what to do.”

Louis pets at his head a little, smoothing his hand over the back of Harry’s neck and then down his spine. “How about we start with dinner?” he says.

Harry looks up, startled, but he nods. “Yeah, dinner,” he says. “I can do dinner.”

Louis smiles gently at him, and Harry picks himself up off the floor, limbs unfolding slowly. Louis gets up, too, and before Harry can leave the room, Louis catches him by the elbow, whirling him around and pulling him into his arms. Harry goes easily, hugging Louis back so tight it almost hurts, and when they start to pull away, Louis stretches up to kiss him, just a brush of lips against lips. Harry melts into it like Louis’s kissing his lights out, deflating against Louis’s body like the last of his strength has been zapped away. Louis thinks he knows the feeling.

“To answer your question,” Louis says, lips still brushing Harry’s, eyes closed. “I don’t know, but I would really, really like to work it out.”

Harry presses his face into Louis’s neck, holding him tight around the waist. “I’m never going to hurt you again,” he whispers. It sends goosebumps down Louis’s spine, but even as he hugs Harry back, he isn’t really sure how much he can trust that statement. He appreciates it, which he guesses is what matters, but he thinks they both still have a whole lot of hurting left to do.

-

Louis never ends up going to the hotel. They never even leave the kitchen table after dinner; it’s incredible how easy it is to fall into easy conversation with Harry, how easy it is to feel like nothing’s changed at all. Before he knows it, his laughter is lapsing into a yawn, and the clock on Harry’s futuristic-looking microwave says it’s past midnight. Maybe sleeping here wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, he thinks, eyes falling on Harry’s sleepy smile, his heavy eyelids. He doesn’t really feel like going through the effort of checking into a hotel right now, and he doesn’t really want to make Harry have to drive him, either, so when his eyes finally feel too heavy to keep open much longer, he rubs at his face a little and sighs. 

“I’m exhausted,” he says, “can I just crash here?”

“Of course,” Harry says, stifling a yawn as he gets up from the table. “Follow me.”

Harry’s house is alarmingly, disgustingly big, and the guest bedroom is no different. The ceilings aren’t quite as tall on the second floor, but the room still feels cavernous in a way Louis hates, even before Harry turns the lights on. The decor is horrible, like some sort of overpriced hotel room, but Louis doesn’t outwardly show his contempt, falling down on the made-up guest bed as soon as it’s in sight.

It occurs to him, as his body bounces once or twice on the plush mattress, that this room is entirely made up, set up for a guest, with towels folded on the dresser and everything. He wonders, distantly, if Harry ever intended to actually bring him to a hotel, but he’s too tired to think very much about that. 

“Oh, you left your bag downstairs,” Harry says softly. Louis looks up at him without lifting his head from the pillow, and Harry smiles. “I’ll get it for you.”

“Thanks,” Louis mumbles, letting his eyes fall closed.

He really does mean to wait for Harry to come back, to get up and change out of his clothes, brush his teeth, at the very least, but by the time Harry comes back into the guest room with Louis’s duffel bag over his shoulder, Louis is fast asleep on top of the covers.

Harry must pull his shoes off, tuck him under the comforter, and turn out the lights, but Louis isn’t awake to notice. 

-

When Louis thinks back to that first morning after graduation, waking up naked and alone, it still feels like a brick settling over his chest. He was still coming down off the high of the perfect day he’d had before; it took him so, so long to realize that anything was wrong, and he feels like an idiot when he thinks back on it now. He tried to call Harry as soon as he woke up, and texted him a few times throughout the day, as well, but Harry didn’t answer. It wasn’t until Louis arrived at Perrie's graduation party later that afternoon that Louis finally began to get worried.

Everyone kept asking where Harry was, why he wasn’t at the party, if he was okay or sick or something, and Louis had no idea what to say. He couldn’t tell them he didn’t know; he was Harry’s _boyfriend_ , for crying out loud, and everyone knew that now, and if anyone in the world should have known where Harry was that first day, it should have been Louis.

It took him an embarrassingly long time to go to Harry’s parents, but after a few days, the worry started to set in heavy. He showed up at Harry’s doorstep early in the morning, tears in his eyes, and Harry’s mom had just hugged him, teary too, and told him that he needed to hear whatever the situation was from Harry himself. Louis begged, sat in Harry’s old living room and cried himself blue in the face, but Harry’s mom wouldn’t tell him anything more than that he’d made a decision that nobody was happy with, nobody except him, and that _he_ needed to be the one to tell Louis about it. 

Her logic makes sense, looking back; if Harry wanted to be an adult, he needed to act like it, needed to take accountability for his actions. Louis was so angry, then, and so confused, he refused to speak to anyone for days, but as the time wore on, and Louis’s hopes got lower and lower, he couldn’t stand the loneliness anymore, and he clung to Perrie, the way he’s been doing for over ten years now.

The summer dragged on, and there was no word from Harry. College was the last thing Louis wanted to do, not without Harry by his side, but he’d already made the first tuition payment, and there was no backing out now. He moved into a dorm room with some smelly kid from Maine or somewhere and hated every minute of it, hated every class, every assignment, every club and party and everything, _everything_. He went home every weekend, slept in his childhood bed so that he could cry himself to sleep in peace, thinking about nothing but Harry, where he was, what he was doing, if he was okay, happy, if he was missing Louis this much, too, or if he’d just completely moved on with his life. He couldn’t bear to face any of their high school friends, aside from Perrie, and despite everyone’s attempts to reach out to him, he drifted apart from the group, until the only person he had left in the world was Perrie. She will always be the best thing that happened to Louis, and he knows that; without her, he could not have survived those first few months without Harry, the other half of him; it was like losing an organ, a limb he’d had since birth, and Perrie was his faithful crutch, the only one capable of dragging him out of bed and into the world when all he wanted to do was lay down and die.

It was November 2009, the fall of their freshman year of college, that everything fell apart. Perrie came to his dorm late on a weeknight, absolutely hysterical, and luckily enough, Louis’s roommate happened to be gone for the week. 

That was the last bit of luck Louis ever had.

Perrie was pregnant, she said, she was sure of it, she’d fucked up so bad and she was pregnant and she was going to _die_ , her parents were going to _kill_ her, she was going to kill _herself_ because she couldn’t, she could not do this, she could not be a _mom_ , she was _eighteen_ —

But Louis had hushed her, held her against his chest and rocked her until she’d calmed down, walked her to the convenience store just outside of campus and bought her a few boxes of pregnancy tests, just so they could make absolutely sure. It was later that night, lying on Louis’s bed with a mess of positive tests scattered around the room like leaves after a storm, that Louis reached over and turned the radio on to distract the both of them, and only _then_ did the real storm start.

“—newcomer on the charts,” the DJ was in the middle of saying, a familiar tune playing under his voice. “Brand new song, brand new artist, but we’re expecting big, _big_ things from him. This is Harry Styles, with his debut single, Strong.”

Louis will never forget those words for the rest of his life, nor will he forget the feeling of his blood turning to ice in his veins, the feeling of Perrie shifting to sit up, jaw slack, the feeling of his hand curling into a fist involuntarily and colliding with the wall beside his bed, the feeling of his finger breaking, the feeling of white, hot rage blinding him from the pain, the feeling of the scream ripping out of his throat, injured hand connecting next with the radio, sending it clattering to the floor, plunging the room into silence.

Leaving the urgent care on campus the next day was surreal; Louis had a cast on his hand, and Perrie had a bottle of prenatal vitamins in her hand, and nothing in the world would ever be right again.

They decided to drop out together, because Louis couldn’t stand college, and Perrie figured that if she was going to be a mother, she was going to do it all in. Louis never liked Luke, Perrie’s baby daddy, one bit, but he was still right up there with all of Perrie’s bridesmaids at her wedding the following April. She looked so gorgeous, the bride of any straight man’s dreams, Louis’s sure, with her tiny baby bump peeking through her princess dress, hair curled immaculately, pinned up impossibly, like nothing Louis had ever seen before. Luke decided to stay in school, keep working toward his degree so he could support Perrie and the baby when he graduated, and Perrie moved home to her parents’ house in Whitfield, with Louis just across town at his own mother’s house.

Nikki was born in July, just a few days before Perrie’s nineteenth birthday, and from the moment he saw her, Louis vowed to never let her feel the kind of pain he knew was possible in the world. He’d been devoting his life to Perrie for the past nine months to keep himself distracted from the numbness that had settled into him after Harry stole his song and got himself famous. He’d hardly thought about that at all, honestly, and he figured that if he could continue to ignore it, it would eventually just go away. That wasn’t the case, but he could not be told otherwise; it was far, far too painful to think about, anyway, and so he shoved it under the rug, and stepped up to help Perrie raise Nikki while Luke finished school.

It didn’t last long. Luke dropped out sophomore year, got an apartment, and moved Perrie and Nikki into it before Christmas. Louis spent as much time there as he could, but his dislike of Luke was very clearly mutual, and so Louis didn’t get to see very much of Perrie or Nikki for the following year. It was exactly a year later, right around Christmastime of 2011, that Perrie got pregnant again, and once again, everything fell to shit.

It started with a single phone call, the wailing kind, the _I’m in the car with Nikki and we need somewhere to go_ kind, and before Louis knew it, he was hosting both Perrie and her toddler in his childhood bedroom. They had just enough money saved up between the two of them from the past year and a bit to rent a tiny, run down two bedroom house on the very edge of Whitfield, close to where Perrie grew up, and they were moved in by June, the same month that Perrie’s divorce was finalized. He was cheating on her, but that was all Perrie would say; Louis had no idea how she found out or what exactly had happened, but he never knew how to ask, and he’s sure Perrie never would have told him if he did.

In August, Perrie gave birth to the most precious little thing Louis had ever seen, and he promised, as he had promised Nikki, to protect her from any pain the world might try to deal her. He knew a thing or two about pain, he thought; little did he know, he’d only scratched the surface.

It was a little over a year later that Louis ran into Harry’s mom at the grocery store, his shopping cart full of diapers and baby food. He had been avoiding her like the plague for years, but that day, she managed to corner him, asked with wide, nervous eyes if the things in his cart were for, y'know, _his_. He assured her that no, they weren’t, he thought she should’ve known him better than that, after all this time. Her eyes turned sad, and she informed him that she’d just gotten back from Los Angeles, and she must not have seen the way Louis’s face turned sour, because she informed him very awkwardly that Harry had just gotten married the past weekend.

If Louis thought he spiraled when he first heard Harry on the radio, it was nothing compared to how he spiraled this time. He found an apartment in town, moved out of his and Perrie’s house within the month, and vowed to get his life together, no matter what it took; Harry was _married_ , to a _woman_ , and Louis was still living with his best friend and her three- and one-year-old, still working in a toy store, and he’d never felt like more of a loser.

He dated as much as he could, quit his job in a fit of insanity and took up songwriting full-time; if his song had been good enough to launch Harry into global superstardom in just a few months, then certainly he could do it again, write more songs of that caliber, get rich and famous of his own right and run Harry into the ground, where he belonged. 

His plan didn’t go exactly as well as he thought it might. It took almost an entire year to sell a song, and by then, his savings were almost gone. He made a pretty penny off of that first song, though; it placed on the charts in the top forty, stayed there for _weeks_ , even won an award for best music video, which didn’t really have anything to do with him, but _still_. It was absolutely thrilling to hear his song on the radio, and he was determined to do it again and again, but it seemed his good fortune had been a fluke, because it took another year and a half to sell anything else. He was so discouraged by that point, he was about to give up, but the second song took him by surprise, lifted his spirits just enough to keep him going. 

He thought that, for sure, this would be his big break. He wrote song after song after song, recorded demo after demo after demo, trying to make anything as good as those two songs he’d been able to sell, but he had no such luck. He spent another year of his life spiralling out of control, barely scraping by, cursing himself for being such a massive failure, and then his mom passed away, and everything came screeching to a halt.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise, she’d been sick for a while, but nothing could have prepared him for it, regardless. He kept writing music, even sold another song in that following year, but it didn’t do nearly as well on the charts as the other ones he’d sold, and life began to look grimmer than ever. He still wonders, to this day, if it hadn’t been for his sisters, and for Perrie and her girls, if he might even still be here now.

The final blow, the all time low of lows, came only a year and a bit later, when his little sister passed away. He was sure, that time, that he was done, he couldn’t go on; the world was too cruel, too vile, too hopeless and evil and disgusting, he didn’t want to live in it for another day. There was no more beauty in the world, no more happiness, and for all Perrie invited him over and cooked him meals and sent her daughters after him with bottomless cuddles, he felt sure he was too depressed to ever be okay again.

But then, like someone heard his silent cries of despair, all these flowers started showing up at his doorstep. In the two or three months following Felicite’s funeral, Louis must have received a hundred bouquets, gorgeous ones, expensive ones, and, somehow, it worked.

He looked forward to the flowers arriving every few days, kept them in his kitchen in water for as long as possible, but by the time they wilted, new ones were waiting for him the next morning. It added just enough joy to Louis’s life to get him through those awful, awful weeks, and slowly but surely, things started to turn around.

He got an offer to start writing songs under a label, writing for specific artists with the goal of producing radio hits. It didn’t pay much, but it was enough, it was steady work for the first time in years, and Louis almost thought he was going to be fine, almost thought the world had had enough fun with him and decided to move on and find a new victim for its cruelty. He quit that job after a while, though, because it was stifling his creativity, and he’s been independent ever since, doing all sorts of odd jobs and hyper-specific requests for random artists, and it’s hardly his dream, but it’s been enough to get him by, to keep him busy, and yes, he still has big dreams for his own music career, but he learned a long, long time ago that dreams will go out of their way to never become reality.

He spends almost a week in LA with Harry, but they don’t do quite as much talking as they both might have hoped. Well, they do quite a bit of talking, but not about the stuff they need to be talking about, like the future, but more about the past, the terrible, elusive past, and the less terrible past, the past they shared, the past that they both wish was still the present.

Louis spends a lot of time in Harry’s living room, staring at that one picture of him hanging on the wall. He almost can’t remember, anymore, what it felt like to be young, but he thinks that as a teenager, he would have looked at that photograph and found it beautiful, inspiring, something to crave. Now, though, he looks at Harry’s tiny form, surrounded by so many people, or rather, so many shadows of people, there but never _really_ there, watching but never really seeing. It makes him feel trapped, makes him feel suffocated, like he’s got nowhere to go, nothing to do but whatever he’s told, whatever’s going to make the millions of faces watching him smile, whatever’s going to get him out from in front of that crowd alive.

If he never learns how to forgive Harry for the past ten years, he thinks, he might somehow learn to understand him, at least. 

-

Louis and Perrie have been saving up for months now to take the girls to some waterpark resort in Vermont for Nikki’s birthday, because Nikki saw it in a commercial last summer and hasn’t stopped talking about it since. If they hadn’t already booked the resort, Louis might be compelled to stay here, in LA, for just a little bit longer, but as it is, he already misses Perrie and the girls, and he’s only been away for them for a few days.

Harry drives him to the airport in his stupidly big, expensive, new-smelling SUV, and Louis spends half the ride watching out the window, and the other half watching Hary. He didn’t realize how much he missed just being around Harry; Harry can still make him ugly laugh with a single look, even after all the time they’ve spent apart, and Louis can still make Harry smile, even when he’s not trying. No matter what happens, Louis decides, he does not want to lose Harry again. Even if they can’t be together again, if they can’t even be best friends again, he will not let Harry fall out of his life again, not this time.

Louis lingers for a moment when Harry finally pulls the car up outside of the airport, already resenting the plane that’s going to take him away from here. These past few days haven’t been nearly enough; they have ten entire years to make up for and, as Harry pointed out before they left the house earlier, they didn’t really get very much talking done in terms of figuring out where they stand in each other’s lives, but Louis thinks they have time to figure that out. He hopes they have time to figure that out. 

Harry shifts in his seat, and Louis turns to face him. Harry leans close, close enough to kiss Louis, if he wanted, and Louis holds his breath, but Harry doesn’t come any closer. They haven’t kissed once while Louis’s been in LA, which is a stark difference from the day they spent in Louis’s apartment, during which they did very little else _but_ kiss. Louis doesn’t really know what to make of that, but it’s fine, he thinks; it’s not like they’re together, and Harry said before that he was still in love with Louis, and Louis’s persisting unsureness about his own stance on that matter probably makes kissing a pretty bad idea.

“When can I see you again?” Harry asks, worried eyes stuck on Louis’s.

“Whenever you want, I guess,” Louis shrugs.

“You’ll come back?” Harry asks, perking up.

“Uh maybe not,” Louis says, “on account of I have bills to pay, and I _do_ have to work sometimes in order to pay them.”

Harry looks put out, but he nods. “Right.”

“But if you ever find yourself in Whitfield, I’d be happy to host you on my couch,” Louis says.

Harry smiles at him, still much closer than he has any right to be, and Louis thinks again that Harry’s going to kiss him, but he still doesn’t. When Louis drags his eyes away from Harry’s lips yet again, Harry’s eyes are wet, and Louis blinks.

“I love you, Lou,” Harry breathes.

Louis blinks again, and he can’t be sure, but he’s probably blushing, mind racing for a response.

“Sorry,” Harry says. “I don't know how you feel about that, but it’s true. You are my best friend, and I’ve loved you since the day I was born. I can’t help it,” he admits.

Louis swallows, reaching up to touch Harry’s cheek gently, just because it looks so soft, he has to know what it feels like to touch him, if it still feels the same. Harry’s face tightens like he’s going to cry, and Louis pulls his hand away.

“Do I get to know how you feel?” Harry asks.

Louis thinks for a minute, looking down. “I… feel a lot of things,” he says.

“Top three things you’re feeling?” Harry asks, going for a teasing tone but coming out desperate, instead.

“Firstly, sad that you’re very much still my best friend, too, and that we missed so much fucking time together,” Louis says, not bothering to look for the courage to meet Harry’s eyes. “Second, I’m still pissed at you for being so _fucking_ stupid for ten years straight, and third, I’m really happy that you’re back in my life,” he says.

Harry grins, Louis can see it in his periphery, and when he looks up, Harry bites his lip.

“So,” he says, “say I was to find myself in Whitfield in the next week or so?” he says.

Louis laughs, reaching out to hug him. Harry melts into him, arms settling around his waist, face sinking into Louis’s neck like it belongs there, like Harry was crafted to fit there.

“I’m not—” Louis sighs, “I can’t drop everything for you, Harry,” he says quietly.

“I don’t want you to,” Harry mumbles into his neck.

“I spent years trying to learn how to live without you,” Louis says.

“So did I,” Harry says. “It didn’t work.”

Louis purses his lips. “Yeah,” he says, “you have a point.”

“I’m not asking you to be my boyfriend, or love me, or anything, i just—” Harry sighs, pressing his nose into Louis’s pulsepoint. “I need you back in my life, in whatever capacity you can be there.”

Louis hugs Harry a little tighter, dragging one hand through the back of Harry’s hair gently. “I’m here,” he whispers.

“Thank you,” Harry says, choked up again. “For letting me come back. I don’t deserve it,” he says.

Louis knows this. He does, and yet— “Thank _you_ ,” he says, “for coming back.”

They stay like that a few minutes longer, until their eyes are dry and Louis’s running a serious risk of missing his flight. It might not even be the worst thing if he does; Perrie’s not the one he has to be afraid of, though, it’s Nikki, and she would absolutely slaughter him for missing her birthday weekend.

When Louis finally finds his strength and pulls away, Harry watches him go with a soft smile, and Louis returns it easily. He collects his bag from the backseat and then steps back onto the sidewalk, giving Harry a small wave as he backs away from the car, bumping into a few people in his effort to both get away from Harry and to keep his eyes on him. Harry waits until he gets all the way inside, and then some, before he pulls the car away from the curb, and Louis heads through bag check and security feeling like he’s in a dream, wading through cotton candy clouds to find himself at his gate, the 2:30pm flight to Boston. 

It’s funny, he thinks, that they had more constructive conversation in the past five minutes in Harry’s car than they did for the entirety of this trip, but he feels like a part of himself has been put at ease, a part of him that he had forgotten was ever unsettled in the first place. He doesn’t stop thinking about it for hours, as he boards the plane, as he rises up into the sky, putting a country’s worth of distance between himself and Harry and yet somehow still knowing that this time, when he’s in Whitfield and Harry’s in LA, they’re going to be closer than they have been in a decade, and there’s nowhere to go from here but closer, closer, closer.

-

Nikki’s birthday turns into an absolutely magical weekend; Perrie told her they were going on a trip, but they never told her where they were going, and when they finally arrived at the resort she’d been dreaming about for months, Nikki was so happy she cried. They’ve been having a blast all weekend, all four of them; the time goes much too quickly, and before any of them know it, it’s Sunday night, and they’re having their last room service dinner on the floor between the two beds in their hotel room.

Harry has tried to call a couple of times over the weekend, but Louis has somehow managed to miss him each and every time. It seems like every time they’re at the waterpark, or at breakfast, or taking a group nap by the pool, he checks his phone to find a missed call from Harry, but there’s always something else to do, somewhere to be, fun to be had, and he doesn’t get a chance to call Harry back again until Monday morning, when they’re in Perrie’s car, listening to static on the radio because they’re in Nowheresville, Vermont and there’s nothing but trees and rocks and bumpy, terrible roads.

As much fun as Louis had this weekend, he’s looking forward to going home, not having to share a bed with Izzy again for a good long while. He loves her so much, but she kicks like a motherfucker in her sleep, and Perrie really needs to get better about trimming her toenails.

He’s just missed another one of Harry’s calls when he digs his phone out of his bag to plug it into the aux cord, and he decides he should probably finally call him back. He’s not too bothered about having missed some of his calls, though; he told Harry that he wasn’t going to drop everything for him, and this proves it as well as anything, he thinks. 

“Uncle Louis, _please_ put on some music,” Nikki whines from the backseat. “My ears are _bleeding_.”

“Ears can’t bleed,” Izzy says. “Can they? Can ears bleed? _Mommy_ —”

“Everyone shut up, I’m making a phone call,” Louis says, turning the radio down until the static cuts out. The girls let out a collective sigh from the backseat, and Louis taps to return Harry’s call, carefully avoiding Perrie’s eye.

Harry answers on the first ring, breathing loudly down the line. “Fucking finally,” he says, voice low and raspy. He sounds exhausted. “Where the fuck have you been?”

Louis’s very glad he doesn’t have Harry on speaker. “Sorry, we took the girls on a weekend trip, didn’t I tell you that?” Louis says.

“What?” Harry says. “Hello?”

“Can you hear me?” Louis says, stretching up in his seat, like that’ll help. “Sorry, I don’t think there’s any service.”

“You’re breaking up like crazy,” Harry says, frustrated. “Louis, please, we need to talk about this.”

“Talk about what?” Louis asks.

“I feel like everything’s falling apart, I don’t know what to do,” Harry says, talking right over him, like he can’t even hear him. He probably can’t. “Louis?”

There’s a break in the trees a bit further down the road, and Louis can just barely see a telephone tower far off in the distance. “Can you hear me?” he asks, once they’ve broken through the trees.

“Fuck’s sake, where are you, Mars?” Harry asks.

“Just about,” Louis snorts. “What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t seen it?” Harry asks.

“Seen what?” Louis frowns.

“Oh my _fucking_ God,” Harry says. “You seriously— Louis—”

“ _What_?” Louis asks. 

“Just— for fuck’s sake, google my name, and then call me back,” Harry mumbles.

“I’m in the car in the middle of Vermont, dude, I can barely hold this call, you think I can use _Google_?”

Harry hiccups, like he’s starting to cry, and Louis’s heart falls.

“Harry,” he says, softly, “what’s wrong?”

Perrie glances over at him from the driver’s seat, and both of the girls perk up in the back, intrigued, and Louis shrinks toward the window a bit, as if he can hide from them.

“Someone took a picture of us,” Harry says, voice shaking. “And now it’s all over the internet, and everyone wants to know who you are, and why I’m cuddling up to some man at the airport days after calling off my engagement, and I’m so scared, Louis, I’m so scared that they’re gonna figure it out, they’re gonna find out who you are and then someone — Camille or someone who knew about us — is gonna sell us out and everyone’s going to know—”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Louis says. “Hold on. Slow down.” Harry sobs down the line, and Louis’s heart clenches. “Does Camille know… anything?” he asks, glancing up at the girls in the rearview mirror to remind himself to censor his words.

“Not explicitly,” Harry says, “but I’m sure she’s putting two and two together right now.”

“Okay, and who else knows?” Louis asks.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Harry mumbles. “I haven’t told anyone since I left Whitfield, but what about all the people who knew before that?”

“Who?” Louis scoffs.”Our families? Our friends? You think they’d do that?”

“I don’t know what they’re up to!” Harry says. “I don’t know what their lives are like! I trust that Niall and Liam wouldn’t say anything, and I think Perrie would keep her mouth shut for your sake more than mine, but I haven’t talked to Jade or Jesy or Leigh-Anne in over a decade,” he says.

“Harry,” Louis deadpans. “Listen to yourself.”

“This isn’t a joke!” Harry shouts, so loudly Louis’s sure everyone in the car can hear him. 

“So make it one,” Louis says calmly.

Harry pauses. “What?”

“Make it a joke,” Louis shrugs. “Just shock everyone and come out, y’know, be like, ‘haha gotcha!’”

“It’s not that simple Louis,” Harry says. “I’m still signed to a contract, I can’t just come out because I feel like it.”

“I thought your contract was ending?” Louis says.

“Well, it is, in a few weeks, but it’s not like I can just fuck off after that and do what I want, Louis. There will be more contracts,” Harry explains, like Louis is a child.

“Then don’t sign them,” Louis says.

“ _What_?” Harry scoffs.

“Who says you have to sign another stupid contract that clearly is not good for your career or your mental health?” Louis says. “Just tell them to f— bug off, and do what you want.”

“That’s not how it works,” Harry sighs.

“Fuck how it works!” Louis says. Perrie punches his arm hard enough to make him whimper, but Harry doesn’t pay that any mind.

“Even if it could work like that, I can’t just… I can’t just come out,” Harry says lowly.

“Why not?” Louis asks.

“The closeting is too deep,” Harry says. “It’s too complicated, there’s so many things that would have to be unwound.”

Louis frowns. “Why?”

“If I just come out and tell the whole truth, it’s gonna put my team in such a bad light,” Harry says.

“Have you considered that maybe, just maybe, they deserve that for what they’ve put you through?” Louis says quietly.

“Well, yeah, but I’ll get fucking blackballed in the industry, y’know? They can destroy me,” Harry says. 

“And…” Louis measures his tone very carefully, “would that be the worst thing in the world?”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a long few seconds. “Are you telling me I should give up my career?” he asks, finally.

“Are you saying that point A is someone taking a picture of us hugging, and point B is you getting mafia’d out of the music industry?” Louis says.

“I don’t know!” Harry groans. “I don’t know what I’m saying!”

“Listen,” Louis says, because the call is starting to break up again, and this definitely isn’t a conversation he needs to be having in front of Perrie and the girls. “I’ll be home in a few hours, and I’ll call you back, and we can talk about it, okay?”

“No, please don’t go,” Harry says quickly. “ _Please_.”

“H,” Louis mutters, “I’ve got a six-year-old and an eight-year-old in the backseat right now, okay? This isn’t the time.”

“Nine!” says Nikki’s indignant voice from the backseat. 

“Sorry,” Louis says, “a six-year-old and a _nine_ -year-old.”

Harry’s quiet for a minute. “Those are Perrie’s girls?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Louis says, glancing up at them in the mirror again.

“They’re there? In the car?” Harry asks.

“Yeah?” Louis frowns.

“God, I’m sorry,” Harry breathes.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Louis says.

“They must love you so much, huh?” Harry asks, voice low.

“Lemme check,” Louis says, pulling the phone away from his ear and turning to look over his shoulder. “Hey girls, how much do you love me?” he asks.

All at once, the car is full of Nikki and Izzy’s screaming, both of them trying to outdo the other, shrieking their love for their uncle Louis. Louis grins, putting the phone back to his ear. “You hear that?”

“I’ll let you go,” Harry says. He sounds so _sad_.

“I’ll call you when I get back home, okay?” Louis says.

“Yeah, sure,” Harry mumbles. “Bye.”

“Bye,” Louis says, and then the line clicks dead.

“Music!” Izzy demands. “ _Music_!”

“Alright, alright,” Louis says, fishing for the aux cord in Perrie’s mess of a glovebox and plugging in his phone. He turns on his terrible roadtrip playlist, full of throwbacks from the early 2000s, and by the third song, the girls are screaming again for relief.

“Y’know what?” Nikki shouts from the backseat. “Call Harry back, tell him I’ve changed my mind. I love you less now,” she says.

Louis laughs so hard he nearly screams, doubling over in his seat.

“Hey, that’s not nice!” Perrie says.

“Yeah, stupid,” Louis says.

“Way to go, stupid!” Nikki shrieks.

Perrie’s responding reprimands are drowned out by Louis’s and Nikki’s combined laughter, and Perrie gives up before long, laughing along with all of the resulting quips Louis and Nikki keep firing back and forth at each other. Louis wonders if Perrie enjoys being a mother of three instead of two, or if by the time they get back to Whitfield, she’ll just leave him on the side of the road and tell him to get lost.

It’s a fun drive, the way it always is when Louis’s with Perrie and her girls, but he can’t ignore the stone that’s somehow lodged itself into his chest, thinking about Harry, about the picture. He’s a little bit desperate to get home, to find the picture and assess the damage; mostly, he just wants to see what he and Harry look like nowadays, wrapped up in each other like that. The last photo that exists of them together is from his graduation party, taken on his mom’s digital camera, of Harry curled up on top of Louis in a lawn chair by the bonfire, clinging to Louis’s shoulders like he would’ve liked to have never let him go. Louis has had that picture hidden in the back of his closet for a decade, and he only looks at it when he’s very, very sad; it reminds him of how good life was, how good it could have been, if everything hadn’t changed so drastically the very next day. It’s funny, he thinks, that the next picture that would be taken of them, ten years later, would be this one, taken through a windshield, a private moment, Harry holding onto him like that again, like he never wants to let go.

Yet again, Louis thinks, everything is about to change, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

-

It’s another few hours until Whitfield, and the second Louis gets home, he tosses his bag into his bedroom and plops down on the couch with his phone to google Harry’s name. Sure enough, the first few articles that come up under the ‘news’ tab have a tiny photo in the preview, taken a few feet away from the car, through the windshield. Louis opens the first article and zooms in on the picture, heart beating a little faster.

It does look rather intimate, if he’s being honest, but it’s not nearly as bad as Harry was making it sound. They could just be good friends, and they _are_ , Louis reminds himself, rolling his eyes a little as he scrolls down through the article. Then, _then_ , he gets a little more concerned.

“ _Harry Styles was seen embracing another man at LAX yesterday afternoon_ ,” the article reads. “ _Styles ended his year and a half long engagement to French model Camille Rowe earlier this week. Styles, 28, is a Grammy and Oscar award winning musician, with seven albums to date_.”

Louis frowns at that, reading the last line over again. Seven albums? Louis knew Harry's been rather prolific in his career, on account of he always seemed to be _everywhere_ Louis looked whenever he _wasn’t_ looking for him, but seven entire albums seems a bit extreme. He also knew about the Oscar, because Perrie had been up in arms over that one, but Louis has done his absolute best in the past ten years to not keep up with Harry, so he guesses he’s got a bit of catching up to do now.

He spends the next hour or so googling everything about Harry’s life, which makes him even more concerned than the article. He doesn’t so much care that he’s also in the picture (his face is hardly even visible, c’mon), but he does find it terribly alarming that almost every detail of Harry’s life is google-able — the parts people are supposed to know, anyway.

He’s happy to find that none of the songs Harry’s won Grammys for are songs that he stole from Louis, even though there was really only that one, the first one, the lowest blow. Louis goes through his entire discography, checking each song to make sure it doesn’t sound familiar, but Harry comes up completely clean after Strong. Some of his music is even _good_ , which Louis would have found absolutely distressing at any point in the past few years, but now he just saves a couple songs to his library, vowing to come back later to sift through all of Harry’s other works.

Harry’s Oscar is for Best Original Song Score, for a song he wrote for some film a few years ago that Louis’s never even heard of. It makes him feel a little better that at least Harry’s not an actual actor; he did love drama class in high school, but if Louis’s honest, he was never exactly the best at it. 

He clicks back over to the first article after a while, looking at the picture of Harry wrapped up in his arms again. It does sort of suck that Harry can’t even hug a guy at the airport without having his whole life dissected like this, but really, it’s nothing to be so terribly upset about. Neither of their faces are very visible, actually; Louis’s face is mostly concealed behind Harry’s hair, and Harry’s face is turned entirely into Louis’s neck, facing directly away from the camera. Louis doesn’t know how they’re even sure it’s Harry in the picture, until he realizes that after the massive advertisement at the bottom of the first paragraph, the article goes on.

There are more pictures, several direct shots of Harry and Louis’s faces, one of them going in for the hug, and another one of Harry staring longingly after Louis as Louis gets out of the car, Louis’s back turned toward the camera as he shuffles backwards into the airport. It makes his face heat up immediately, knowing that someone was watching that entire scene, taking photos, and when he can’t bear to look at them anymore, he goes back up to read through the rest of the article.

“ _Who is Styles’s mystery man? Does this intimate embrace have anything to do with Styles’s recent split from Rowe? Sources have been inconclusive about the identity of the man pictured with Styles on Thursday afternoon, but the intimacy of their embrace suggests they’re quite close_.”

Louis wants to vomit, scrolling through the rest of the article, which outlines Harry’s entire relationship history, the complete timeline of his engagement to Camille, and then several more paragraphs of conjecture about Louis’s identity. The writing is absolutely awful, Louis thinks, but every other article he clicks on contains almost all the same information, and finally, he thinks he realizes what Harry was so upset about earlier.

He clicks on Harry’s contact to call him while he shuffles back to his bedroom, pulling his bag open to start unpacking just to distract himself a little bit from the issue at hand. Harry almost misses the call, but he answers at the last ring, and then takes a few more seconds to speak. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Louis says, pulling one t-shirt out of his bag and then giving up, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “So, I saw the pictures, and the articles.”

“Yeah,” Harry says distantly.

“It’s pretty gnarly,” Louis says.

“Yeah,” Harry says again.

“But no one can find me in Whitfield, y’know? Like, they’re not gonna find out who I am,” Louis says.

“Yeah,” Harry says.

“So, like, I think you’re safe,” Louis says unsurely.

“Yeah,” Harry mutters.

“Are you just gonna keep saying ‘yeah,’ or…?” Louis asks.

Harry doesn’t say anything for a minute. “I don’t know.”

“Are you,” Louis frowns, “like, okay?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” Harry says.

“Which part?” Louis asks.

“The part where I don’t sign another contract,” Harry says quietly.

Louis pauses, mind racing. “What?”

“Maybe,” Harry sighs, “maybe I don’t need this anymore.”

“Harry,” Louis says firmly, “think about what you’re saying.”

“I am thinking about it,” Harry says. “And I’m thinking maybe you had a point.”

“Harry,” Louis says.

“What’s the worst that can happen, Louis?” Harry says. “It’s 2019, it’s not like my fans are gonna abandon me for being gay. They’ll probably love me even more, y’know? Straight girls love to fetishize gay men,” he says.

“Harry—”

“And we could be together, maybe,” Harry says, like he can’t stop himself. “And—”

“Harry!” Louis says. “ _Stop_.”

“What?” Harry says.

“Do not do this for me,” Louis says lowly.

Harry hesitates. “What?”

“Do not give up your career for me,” Louis repeats.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Harry asks.

“Because!” Louis scoffs.

“I gave _you_ up for my _career_ , didn’t I? And where the fuck did that land me? Suicidal in an ugly mansion in Los Angeles, even more full of pent-up internalized homophobia than I was in high school!” Harry argues. “So why the _fuck_ shouldn’t I give up my career for you?”

“Harry, I’m not your boyfriend.”

Harry pauses for a whole minute, and Louis’s beginning to think he’s died, until finally he breathes in sharply. “I know that,” he says.

“You can’t, like, bank on that right now, okay?” Louis says.

“I’m not,” Harry says, frustrated. “Jesus fucking Christ, I’m just considering what you suggested.”

“Don’t do this,” Louis says.

“I could go independent, like you,” Harry says.

“It fucking sucks, Harry, don’t do it,” Louis says.

“It literally cannot suck more than what I’m already doing,” Harry says.

“Listen,” Louis sighs, “you need to get out of LA, okay? Come stay with me for a while, just get out of the spotlight for a bit.”

Harry considers it for a moment, and then, “I have obligations here for the next few weeks before my contract ends.”

Louis blinks. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says.

“No,” Louis frowns, “don’t be sorry, it’s fine.”

“No, I don’t think it is,” Harry whispers.

Louis’s heart falls. “Harry.”

Harry hiccups a little, like he’s trying not to get upset. “It’s all falling apart, Louis,” he says, voice wavering.

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine,” Louis says soothingly.

“No,” Harry whimpers.

“Yes,” Louis says firmly. ‘Whatever happens, Harry, it’s gonna be fine, and I’m gonna be right here,” he says.

Harry just hiccups again, and Louis’s heart stutters around the next few words that threaten to come out of his mouth. He sits up a little, as if jolted by electricity, and stares at the wall, mouth falling open.

“Maybe I should come stay with you,” Harry says, sniffling quietly.

“You’re always welcome,” Louis says, even though he isn’t really sure if he means it, isn’t even really sure if he’s ever going to be able to speak to Harry again. Fuck, it’s on the tip of his tongue, and every one of Harry’s little gasps pushes it further and further. _I lo—_

“I could push some things around, maybe,” Harry says.

“My door will be open,” Louis breathes.

“Lou?” Harry asks, like Louis’s not paying attention.

“Yeah?” Louis asks, eyes squeezed shut.

“Why are you being so good to me?” Harry asks.

Louis swallows. “What?”

“Why are you being so kind to me?” Harry asks. “Like, I don’t deserve this from you. I don’t deserve anything from you,” he says.

“Stop saying that,” Louis says quietly.

“But it’s true,” Harry says, voice all choked. “And you know it’s true. Why are you treating me like you owe me anything?”

“Because I—” Louis cuts himself off, digging his nails into his thigh.

“What?” Harry asks.

“I love you,” Louis admits.

The world stops. The pain of Louis’s fingernails on his thigh cuts out like a plug’s been pulled, he can’t feel anything, and his brain is all full of that little scratchy sound at the very end of a record.

“You,” Harry stutters, “you do?”

“I,” Louis says, staring into the middle distance between himself and the wall. “Yeah. I mean— yeah.”

“Louis,” Harry says.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Louis says.

“Do you mean it, though?” Harry asks. He sounds so, so hopeful, Louis wants to die.

“I mean, yes, but, not in the way that I want to forgive you for everything and be your boyfriend again. Just, y'know, in the way that we grew up in each other’s pockets, and I’m beginning to think it’s impossible for me to exist without you. I love you like a part of myself, I don’t know, I don’t want to see you hurting no matter how much you’ve hurt me,” Louis says.

Harry goes dead silent for much too long.

“Harry?” Louis says.

“Yeah,” Harry rasps out.

“Are you okay?” Louis asks.

“I don’t wanna do this,” Harry says, voice blank of emotion.

“What?” Louis asks, heart falling so quickly he swears he can hear it hit the floor.

“I don’t want to do this,” Harry says again. “I can’t do this without you.”

“Do what?” Louis asks quickly. “You’re scaring me.”

“Any of it,” Harry says. “I just don’t want to do this without you next to me.”

“Harry,” Louis says.

“I can’t believe I’ve let this go on so long,” Harry mutters. “Louis, I _need_ you.”

“I’m right here,” Louis says, voice shaking.

“No,” Harry says. “No.”

The line goes dead.

Louis lets out a strangled scream and stands up, hands shaking as he fumbles with his phone, trying to call Harry back. He presses the phone to his ear and squeezes his eyes shut so hard he sees shapes, and the phone rings out, and Louis tries again, and again, and again, but Harry doesn’t pick up. Louis can feel the tears building in his eyes and he’s about to give up and call the police, instead, but finally the ringing cuts out midway, and there’s rustling in the background.

“I’m not fucking killing myself,” Harry says firmly.

“Then what the _fuck_ are you doing?!” Louis asks, voice shrill, still shaking.

“I’m coming to Whitfield,” Harry says.

Louis keeps shaking, but his mind stops working altogether. “Oh.”

“Is that okay?” Harry asks.

“I don’t know,” Louis says, wide eyes fixed on the wall across from his bed. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?” Harry asks.

“I don’t know,” Louis says.

“I’m scared, too,” Harry says, “let’s figure it out together.”

“Alright,” Louis says.

It seems like they keep trying to figure stuff out, but more and more of it keeps piling up. When they get together, nothing happens, but maybe, Louis thinks, nothing happening is exactly what they both need right now. 

-

Harry catches a flight the next day, and two hours before he’s set to arrive, Louis panics. He told Harry that he _loved_ him, there’s no way he can face him right now, not without a buffer. What kills a mood, he thinks, faster than kids, so he scrambles for his phone, calling Perrie before he can remind himself that he’s being ridiculous.

“Hi, darling,” Perrie answers, “missed me already?”

“Will you bring dinner tonight?” Louis asks, sitting down hard on the couch and pinching at his thigh. “And the girls?”

“I guess so,” Perrie says. Louis can hear her frowning. “Why?”

“Uh,” Louis hesitates.

“Is… _someone_ there?” Perrie asks darkly.

“He’s about to be,” Louis admits.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Louis—”

“Please!” Louis whines. “Please, please, Perrie.”

“Why do we need to come over?” Perrie asks. “You were fine spending almost a week with him in LA!”

“Yeah, but, this is different,” Louis says.

“Why’s it different?” Perrie asks.

“I don’t know,” Louis mumbles.

“I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to be civil to him, Louis,” Perrie says.

“Well, you’re going to have to learn, Perrie, because he’s back in my life and I’m not letting him leave again,” Louis says, more forceful than either of them were expecting him to be.

Perrie’s quiet, and Louis can feel the panic rising in his chest.

“Perrie,” he says, voice higher than he’d like it to be, “I told him I love him.”

Perrie breathes out very, very slowly. “ _Louis_.”

“But not like that!” Louis says. “I told him that I loved him in that I wanted to keep him in my life but that I couldn’t date him right now, or maybe ever, but I don’t want to lose him,” he says.

Perrie sighs again. “Louis—”

“Don’t lecture me right now, because I’ll fully fucking fall apart,” Louis says. “He’s gonna be here into two hours, and _please_ , I need you to be here when he gets here because I don’t think I can be alone with him right now,” he says.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Perrie mutters, “okay, I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Thank you,” Louis gushes, but Perrie’s already hung up.

He spends the next hour hurriedly tidying up his apartment, making sure that there’s nothing embarrassing lying around, nothing Harry might see when he comes to stay here for — well, however long he’s staying. It probably won’t be long; he said he had obligations in LA, but then again, he also sounded like he wanted to throw himself off a bridge, so Louis’s not really sure he’s terribly committed to keeping those obligations, anyway.

The buzz of his doorbell catches him off guard, but it’s only Perrie and the girls, so he runs to buzz them in. He waits by the door while they come up, and as soon as they knock, he throws the door open, greeting them with a manic grin. “Hi!” he says cheerfully, but the girls both take a step back, hiding behind Perrie’s legs.

Izzy looks up at him and swallows hard, glancing over at Nikki with wide eyes. “Mommy says you’re being—” she looks up at Perrie, as if for permission, and Perrie nods. “ _Stupid_.”

Louis’s shoulders fall. “Gee, thanks,” he deadpans.

“Maybe he’ll change my mind tonight,” Perrie says, shoving two boxes of pizza into Louis’s hands. “But that doesn’t seem likely.”

“Fair enough,” Louis sighs, backing away to let the girls in. “Thank you for coming.”

Perrie hugs him sideways, pecking a kiss to his cheek. “Always, Lou,” she says quietly.

Nikki lands a solid punch to Louis’s hip, and Louis almost drops the pizzas. “Way to go, _stupid_ ,” she grins.

“Thanks, stinky,” Louis grumbles, nudging his toe against the back of Nikki’s knee so that her leg buckles from under her.

He leads the way to the kitchen with the pizza boxes, and the girls gather around the table, waiting rather impatiently to be served. As they eat, Louis gets so comfortable he almost forgets why he called them all here; Perrie’s daughters have some kind of effect on him, he almost can’t even be upset when they’re around, they’re like little beacons of sunshine and positive energy.

It all comes flooding back to him when the buzzer sounds again, though. His face falls, but Perrie’s already out of her seat, marching out of the kitchen toward the front door.

“Perrie!” Louis shrieks, scrambling to catch her.

“Let me let him in,” Perrie says lowly, “please.”

Louis swallows hard. “Please don’t kill him,” he says.

“I won’t,” Perrie says, but she gets this wicked grin on her face as she turns around, buzzing Harry in and then slipping out into the hallway.

Louis shuffles back into the kitchen, stomach turning. He shouldn’t have eaten so much pizza, he thinks, because he’s about to puke it out, even more nervous than he was before now that Perrie’s the one greeting Harry.

“Uncle Louis,” Nikki says, pulling at his t-shirt. “Will you braid my hair?”

Louis loves her so much. She can tell that he’s nervous, she must be able to see the wild look in his eye, and Louis smiles, nodding once.

They sit down on the kitchen floor, all three of them, with Nikki between Louis’s legs, Izzy sitting a few feet away, happily munching on a pizza crust. Louis’s fingers are shaking a little bit but he braids Nikki’s hair to the best of his ability, recalling all of his skills from when he lived at home with his sisters, getting them all ready for school in the mornings.

It takes fifteen entire minutes, but finally, the front door opens, and Louis jumps. Through the kitchen doorway, he watches Perrie and Harry come into the apartment, their hands laced together between them, both of their eyes damp.

Louis locks eyes with Harry, and Harry smiles gently at him, eyes falling on the two small girls sitting on the floor with him.

“These are my girls,” Perrie says to Harry, “Nikki, and Izzy.”

The girls smile shyly, and Nikki scoots back into Louis’s chest, forcing him to drop the end of her braid.

“Girls, this is Harry,” Perrie says, touching his shoulder tenderly.

“Hi, Harry,” Izzy says, around a mouthful of chewed up pizza crust.

“Very nice to meet you, ladies,” Harry says, getting right down on the floor with them. God, Louis thinks, he should’ve cleaned the floors today, he should’ve—

“Are you hungry, Harry?” Perrie asks. “There’s some pizza left.”

“Oh, no thank you, I’m okay,” Harry says, smiling up at her.

“Uncle Louis,” Nikki says quietly, trying to pretend like she isn’t still sizing Harry up. “You wrecked my braid.”

“Sorry,” Louis says, looking down to pick up where he left off, but Harry scoots a little closer.

“Oh,” he says, “can I do it? I’m really good at braids. I used to have long hair, too, and I practiced on myself a lot,” he says.

Nikki looks up at Perrie, and Perrie nods, so Nikki nods and crawls away from Louis to get closer to Harry. Louis stands up, giving Perrie a curious look, and Perrie beckons him back into the living room.

“What the hell is happening?” Louis whispers.

“We had a little talk,” Perrie says, looking down at her shoes for a minute and sighing.

“And?” Louis prompts. “What happened? Are you high?”

“No,” Perrie chuckles. “I just wanted to make sure he knew that if he so much as doesn’t bless you when you sneeze, I’ll castrate him, but he started fucking crying like a baby before I even opened my mouth. He came right up to me and hugged me and apologized for everything, and he thanked me for taking care of you, and before I could say anything, he said he didn’t expect me to forgive him for anything, and he said he knew what this probably looked like to me, but that he wanted me to know that he knew he had fucked up so bad, and he was going to do whatever it took to make it better,” she says, voice low. “And, of course, I already had a speech planned, so I gave it anyway, and he just listened and thanked me again and — Lou, I don’t know, maybe I was wrong. Maybe he’s not the monster I’ve been thinking of him as. Maybe he was just a stupid kid,” she admits.

“Okay,” Louis says, smiling slowly. “So, can you tell the girls I’m not stupid anymore?”

Perrie laughs, pushing at his shoulder. “I still think you’re stupid,” she says, “but maybe I don’t hate Harry as much as I thought I should.”

“Well,” Louis says, “this isn’t how I expected this to go, but I can’t say I’m upset with it,” he shrugs.

“I’m sorry I tried to talk you out of this,” Perrie says, expression turning a little more serious. “I understand now that this is what you need, and I’m still not happy that he hurt you so much and now wants to be part of your life again, but if _you_ want him in your life, then I’m happy for you, and I’m going to support you no matter what,” she says.

Louis hugs her, pressing his face into her neck. “I love you, Pez,” he whispers.

“Just so long as you always love me a little bit more than him,” Perrie says.

Louis laughs, pulling away to peck a kiss to her cheek. “I could never love anyone more than you, Perrie,” he says. Perrie grins, shoving at him gently once more.

When they go back into the kitchen, Harry already has both girls wrapped around his finger, literally; he’s wrestling with a shrieking Nikki, and Izzy has her greasy hands clamped around his shoulders, howling with laughter as he tries to shake her off. Harry’s laughter is positively soul cleansing, and Louis grins, leaning against the doorway to watch for a moment.

“What’s happening here?” Louis asks, voice loud enough to be heard over the commotion.

“I’m being attacked!” Harry wails.

“We like him!” Izzy giggles manically, shrieking as Harry finally succeeds in bucking her off of his back so he can tackle her to the ground.

Louis turns to Perrie, who is watching the scene with an unsure smile on her face. “Y'know,” he says lowly, “they say kids are good judges of character.”

“Don’t push it,” Perrie mutters, sticking her tongue out at him and then setting about cleaning up the mess of pizza crusts on the table.

Louis jumps into the fun happening on the floor, prying Izzy out of Harry’s hands to tickle her himself. She screams, and suddenly all three of them turn on Louis, pinning him to the floor and showing no mercy. Harry’s very clearly the ringleader, which is absolutely astounding, as far as Louis’s concerned; Nikki and Izzy are very much Perrie’s children in that they will not be told what to do, least of all by a perfect stranger. Harry’s got them at his beck and call, though, and they tickle when he says tickle, pinch when he says pinch, and Louis almost doesn’t even want to fight back just for how much fun they all seem to be having.

It goes on for a while, but they’ve all got full stomachs, and right when Izzy looks like she’s about to puke from laughing so much, Louis decides to call it all off. He suggests a movie, and the girls take off for the living room at once, while Harry helps Louis up off the floor.

“Hey,” Harry says, holding Louis’s hand for just a second too long. “Didn’t know you’d be having company,” he says, but he doesn’t sound upset.

“Yeah, sorry, they popped in with pizza, couldn’t turn them away,” Louis lies. “Is it okay that they stay?”

“Oh, of course,” Harry frowns. “They’re delightful!”

“Good,” Louis smiles, nodding toward the living room. “Let’s go, then, I’ve a feeling I’m about to watch Moana for the 800th time, I don’t want to miss a moment of it.”

Harry grins, following Louis through the doorway into the living room. Louis squishes himself down on the sofa between Nikki and Izzy, so Harry takes the armchair opposite the couch, pulling it around a bit so he can see the TV.

Lo and behold, they watch Moana, and Louis’s just about to start singing along when Nikki leans into his side, tugging at the sleeve of his t-shirt so that he’ll stoop down a little.

“Uncle Louis,” she whispers, breath hot against his ear. “Is that the same Harry from before?”

Louis blinks, looking down at her with a confused frown. He doesn’t know what she means by ‘before,’ except that she heard Louis talking to him on the phone yesterday, but she doesn’t wait long to give him clarification.

“The one who made you sad?” she whispers.

Harry flinches from across the room, and Louis’s heart falls.

“Y’know what, Nikki,” Louis whispers back, wrapping his arm around her and cuddling her close, “don’t worry about that, we’re working on it.”

Nikki looks mortified, but she nods, putting her head down on Louis’s chest and focusing back on the movie. Louis loves her so much his heart aches with it; what fucking _nine-year-old_ not only remembers something like that, but cares enough to check in on him? He feels a bit bad for Harry, who’s now wringing his hands nervously in his lap in the armchair, but he’ll survive, Louis thinks.

Perrie and Harry chat through the end of the movie, while Izzy and Nikki get to work falling asleep on top of Louis. It’s nice to hear Harry and Perrie catching up; they were never exactly the closest of friends, but with a group so tightly knit as theirs, it’s impossible for them not to have loved each other at least a little bit. Besides, for a good long while, Harry was Louis’s boyfriend, and Perrie was Louis’s best friend, and that has to count for something, right? 

By the time the movie ends, Izzy is knocked out on Louis’s lap, and Nikki’s halfway there, eyes fluttering closed and open again every few seconds. Louis nudges Perrie, nodding down at them, and Perrie grins, pulling out her phone to take a picture.

“Guess that’s our cue,” she says, but she meets Louis’s eyes before she gets up, as if asking if he’ll be alright.

Louis nods; maybe he doesn’t need a buffer as much as he originally thought. It was definitely helpful to have the girls here to break the ice in the beginning, but he’ll be okay, he thinks, if he has what’s left of the night alone with Harry.

“I’ll help you get them to the car,” Louis says, carefully picking Izzy up off the couch once Perrie’s got a half-asleep Nikki successfully wrapped around her like a koala. They’re quiet as they bring the girls downstairs and out to the car, and then once they’re both strapped into their carseats, Louis turns back to Perrie. “Will you be alright getting them into bed by yourself?” he asks.

“I’ll manage,” Perrie says knowingly, like she thinks Louis’s nervous to go back upstairs to Harry. Alright, maybe he is, a little. “Will you be okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “I really think it’s fine, like, he seems fine, don’t you think?”

“He seems better than I ever imagined he would,” Perrie says. “I thought you were absolutely crazy until I talked to him.”

Louis hesitates, and then shuts the car door, rounding the car to where Perrie’s standing on the driver’s side. “Perrie,” he says lowly, “am I insane if I say I kinda want to—”

“Don’t even fucking say it,” Perrie cuts him off.

“Fuck,” Louis breathes, rubbing at his face. “I thought so.”

“Not yet,” Perrie says. “You need to take some serious fucking time and get to know him again, for longer than a few weeks,” she says. “And you need to keep in mind everything he put you through.”

Louis nods, staring down at the asphalt.

“I don’t think you’re insane, by the way,” she says, touching his arm. “I think you’re human.”

Louis’s eyes get a little wet without his permission, and he looks back up at her.

“He loves you so much, Louis,” Perrie says softly. “And I don’t think he’d ever hurt you like that again willingly, but think about it. What it’s gonna look like to him if you just run right back into his bed already? He’s never going to work for anything else for the rest of his life, things are going to be exactly the way they were in high school, and you’re going to be miserable,” she says.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Louis mumbles.

“Is he, like, okay, after the whole Camille thing?” Perrie asks, crossing her arms over her chest in the cool summer night breeze. “And the pictures, and everything?”

“I don’t know, I don’t think so,” Louis says. “I think he’s freaking out a little, honestly, about the whole thing.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Perrie shrugs. “I think I would be, too.”

“I told him he could come here and lay low for a while, so that’s what we’re gonna do,” Louis says. “I told him I wasn’t gonna put my life on hold for him, and I’m gonna stick to that. Tomorrow I’m gonna get up and go to work, and he’s gonna stay here and chill out, and we’re just gonna figure it out one day at a time, I guess,” he says.

Perrie hugs him once more, rubbing his back like a good mom. “I’m proud of you,” she says. 

“For what?” Louis frowns.

“For being such a good person,” Perrie says. “Because I swear to god, if it were me, I would’ve slit his throat the minute he walked into that reunion.”

Louis smiles, pulling away and shaking his head. “No you wouldn’t have,” he says.

Perrie cocks an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t you remember Parker King, the day we met? You jumped on him and ripped his hair out, and then said you felt sorry for him, and wished you could help him. Perrie, you’re the best person there is,” Louis says.

Perrie sighs, staring at the ground for a minute. “I wonder what ever happened to that kid,” she says.

“All I know is that he never had a friend like you, so he’s probably suffering something fierce now,” Louis says.

Perrie grins, stepping close and kissing Louis right on the mouth. “I love you, you little disaster. Be safe, be careful, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she says, opening the door to get into her car. “I really have to get these two sleeping kids home now.”

“Alright,” Louis says, backing away from the car. “Love you, thanks for coming over. Text me when you get home!” he says, jogging back toward the entrance to his building and watching Perrie pull out.

As he heads back up to his apartment, he can’t stop thinking about Parker King, where he is now, if he ever got all of those bees out of his head. He hopes he did; there’s something so tragic about the thought of Parker out there now, a full grown man, still making other people miserable wherever he goes. Louis hopes he found his peace, and he hopes that, soon, he’ll find his own, too.

Harry is sitting right where Louis left him when he gets upstairs, except now he’s got tears streaming down his face, and he wipes furiously at his cheeks when Louis walks in. Louis falters, frowns, and then rushes to him.

“Hey,” he says, sitting down on the edge of the couch closest to the armchair. “What’s wrong?”

“Those kids love you so fucking much,” Harry says, sniffling loudly.

“I’d hope they do,” Louis says. “I’ve been helping raise them since they were born.”

Harry hiccups a little, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Did Nikki ask you if I was the one who made you sad?”

Louis pauses, looking down.

“That broke my fucking heart, Louis. What the fuck,” Harry whimpers.

“Perrie raises them to be very in tune with other people’s emotions,” Louis says, voice weak. “Nikki has known me her whole entire life,” he says.

“So have I,” Harry says, “and _I’m_ the one who made you sad.”

“I mean,” Louis shifts uncomfortably on the couch, “did you not think you were gonna make me sad when you left?”

“No,” Harry says. “I don’t know, of course I did, I just— that really fucking hurt, when she said that,” he says.

“The first night we went out for drinks, Perrie and the girls came over to help me get ready, and they asked who I was going to see, and then I had to explain the whole thing. That’s the only reason she said that. That’s the only knowledge she had of you. But now she knows you, Harry, and I’m pretty sure she’s in love with you. I mean, did you see her?”

Harry smiles a little, wiping at his face. “I just hate that I’m the one who made you sad,” he says again. “Like, I know she’s right, and I’m not upset at her or you or anyone but myself. I hate that I did that. I hate it, I hate it, I hate myself,” he hisses.

“Hey,” Louis says, “we’ve talked about this, okay? We’re moving on. I’m not sad anymore,” he says.

Harry just breaks down a little more, hunching over to put his face in his own lap. “I’m sorry,” he whimpers, “I don’t know why I’m like this.”

Louis chuckles a little, repositioning to the arm of Harry’s chair and rubbing at his back a little. “You’re exhausted,” he says.

“Yeah,” Harry says miserably.

“You’ve had a hard couple days,” Louis says.

Harry hesitates, and then scoffs. “Yeah, a hard couple days.”

“Come here,” Louis says, getting up off the arm of the chair and opening his arms. Harry gets up and hugs him, melting into him like he can’t be trusted to even keep himself standing.

“You should go to sleep,” Louis says softly.

Harry pulls back to look at him, and Louis gives him a little smile, but then Harry leans in, and Louis’s heart falls. He pulls back an inch, Perrie’s voice echoing in his head _don’t give in so quickly_ , but he hesitates, can’t pull back any further. Harry looks so hopeful, but also so sad, like he already knows what’s going to happen.

“Harry,” Louis says, voice thick.

“I know,” Harry says quietly, looking down. “I know what you said. I’m sorry.”

“Wait,” Louis breathes.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says again, “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Louis can’t stand this, he fucking hates it, and before he knows it, his brain says _> fuck it_, and he starts to lean in just as Harry’s turning away. He shuffles over to get his bag, lifting it up on his shoulder like he doesn’t have a clue he’s just left Louis hanging over an abyss, about to tumble in.

“Should I sleep on the couch?” he asks, already making his way back.

Louis feels like an idiot, but he’s not done yet, apparently. “You could,” he says, chewing the inside of his lip, “sleep in my bed. With me,” he says.

Harry looks at him for the longest minute of Louis’s life, and he looks so confused, but Louis doesn’t know how to follow up on that. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Harry says quietly.

Louis doesn’t think it’s a good idea, either, but he steps closer and into Harry’s space, until Harry’s forced to straighten up and look at him. Louis pauses a minute, heart beating out of control, and then closes the distance, leaning up and in until his lips meet Harry’s. Harry melts into it for just a second, and for the first time in over a decade, Louis feels like he’s home; yeah, they spent an entire day kissing when Harry first came back, but this is the first time it feels like he’s actually kissing _his_ Harry again, the Harry he loved, the Harry he lost, the Harry who came back to him for help because Louis’s the last thing in the world that he can count on. Louis doesn’t want to pull away, he wants to fucking _cry_ because he never wants to stop, but then Harry pulls back and swallows hard.

They stare at each other for another terribly long minute, each waiting for the other to make the next move, and then Harry sighs a little and steps away. “Goodnight, Louis,” he says, putting his bag down on the couch.

“Goodnight,” Louis says, turning on his heel and floating down the hall to lock himself in his bedroom.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. He’s so _fucking_ stupid, why did he do that? He shouldn’t have done that. He never should have kissed Harry. Perrie _just_ told him to take it slow, to not give into Harry that easily, and what did Louis do? He went and fucking _kissed_ him. Louis doesn’t deserve rights, he thinks, he feels like he needs to be led around on a leash, sprayed with a water bottle like a cat every time he misbehaves. He lies there for hours, staring at the ceiling, and sleep has never felt so far away.

He can’t stop thinking about Harry, just in the next room, curled up on his couch. He can’t help but wonder if Harry is asleep or awake, thinking about him too, wondering what he’s doing, why he kissed him, what he wants because Louis is being so _fucking_ confusing and telling him one thing and then doing another and fuck, Louis hates himself so much, why can’t he just make a decision and _stick_ to it—

He rolls out of bed around 2 in the morning, trudging for the door to go to the bathroom. When he opens his bedroom door, though, Harry is right there, looming in the hallway like a ghost. They both jump, but Harry recovers first, shoulders dropping as he steps forward half an inch, moonlight catching in his eyes, making his golden skin glow. He looks exhausted, spent, completely done with life, and Louis’s never loved him more than he does in this moment, has never wanted so badly to wrap himself in someone like a blanket and hide away from the world for the rest of time.

Louis reaches for him, and Harry meets him halfway, pressing him back into the room with the force of the kiss. Harry slides his hands up under Louis’s shirt to touch his skin, but that’s all either of them have the energy for, falling back into the bed just to keep kissing for a few minutes, wrapped up in each other and completely overwhelmed.

When they pull away, Harry tucks himself into Louis’s chest, falling asleep in minutes. It’s so achingly familiar, Louis could cry; he feels like he’s 18 again, holding Harry in his childhood bed, amazed every time by how quickly Harry could fall asleep. It doesn’t take Louis long either, though, not tonight, because holding Harry in his arms like this is better than any drug, and Louis drops off to sleep like a tetris block falling into place, slotting perfectly into the space made for him and wiping himself out.

-

Louis wakes up the following morning in mostly the same position he fell asleep, with Harry curled up beside him. Harry turned over at some point during the night, and now Louis’s wrapped around his back, still holding him close. 

He has a studio appointment today in a couple of hours, but he knows that if he doesn’t get up now, he won’t get up at all. He moves slowly, pulling away from Harry one limb at a time, and then he slips out of the bed and gets dressed as quickly as possible. Harry’s still dead asleep, which is good; he clearly needs the rest, and Louis is happy to let him rest as long as he needs to as long as Louis doesn’t have to be here to watch the way his eyelids flutter, the way he smiles in his sleep every now and again.

He leaves a note in the kitchen before he leaves the apartment to let Harry know where he’s gone, and then sneaks out as quietly as possible. He considers calling Perrie once he’s in the car to tell her what he’s done, that he kissed Harry and slept next to him for the whole night, but he doesn’t think she needs to hear it. She’s going to be so annoyed at him, and Louis figures he doesn’t need to stress her out with this just yet, anyway, because he’s sure he’s going to do a lot more stupid things in the days to come.

There are already a few people at the studio when he arrives, even though he’s a few minutes early, despite stopping to get breakfast on the way over. His friend and producer Steve is there, of course, and a couple faces Louis wasn’t expecting to see today, but it’s always a pleasant surprise to have others along during a session.

“Louis T!” says a familiar voice, and Louis smiles before he places it, turning to look up at the man coming over to clap him on the back. “How’s my favorite songwriter?”

“Dunno, is he here?” Louis asks playfully. 

“Standing right in front of me,” Timmy says, pinching Louis’s cheek.

Louis knows Timmy well, better than he’d probably like to admit to some people, like his nan, for instance. Timmy’s a close friend of Steve’s, a really excellent producer, and Louis’s been fooling around with him off and on for the better part of the past six years. Aside from Perrie, Timmy’s probably the closest thing Louis’s had to a stable relationship since high school. They’ve never dated, not really, but Louis can always count on a good, _good_ night whenever he happens to run into Timmy somewhere.

“Doing well, I guess,” Louis says, dropping his backpack by the door and plopping down in the chair next to Steve. “You writing with us today?”

“I’d love to,” Timmy says, perching right on Louis’s lap, even though he’s probably a touch too big to fit there. Louis smiles, wrapping his arms around Timmy’s waist, laughing when Steve rolls his eyes at them.

This is a pleasant surprise, Louis thinks. Nine times out of ten that he does a session with Timmy, they end up going home together after, and Louis thinks he could really use a good round of sex tonight, what with all the— 

Harry’s at his apartment. There’s no way Louis can go home with Timmy tonight, because Harry’s at Louis’s apartment, and Louis can’t bring someone home while he’s there, nor can he just sleep at someone else’s place while Harry’s alone. Even if he could, he’s not sure he’d want to; sleeping with someone else now that Harry’s back in the picture feels wrong, inexplicably so, and Louis loosens his arms a little around Timmy’s waist as he thinks about it.

He and Harry aren’t dating, not by a long shot, and they’re not _going to_ , either. So why does Louis feel so awkward with another man sitting in his lap? Why does he feel so wrong, when he’s had this particular man in _much_ more intimate positions? 

He pushes those thoughts away as they get down to business, and, all things considered, it’s a pretty good day. They get a lot of work done, finish up some of the demos they’ve been working on for weeks, wrap up a few other projects they’ve been putting off, and between the two of them, Louis and Timmy start conceptualizing three new songs by the end of the day. These full day sessions are hardly ever as productive as this, because Louis tends to get insufferably bored after just a few hours, but they work right up until the end today, when Steve finally checks his watch and announces that they only have five minutes left before the studio closes.

“Good work today, guys,” Steve says, picking up the copies of the new demos off the desk and waving them in the air. “I’ll get these out tomorrow.”

“Wait,” Louis says, reaching for the flash drives Steve keeps the songs on. There’s one demo they recorded today that Louis can’t stop thinking about; he thinks it would be perfect for Harry, based on the few songs Louis’s listened to from him, and he kind of wants to keep it, maybe put it aside, save it so that Harry might have it someday. “Can I keep this one?” Louis says, taking the drive he wants and handing the others back.

“For yourself?” Steve asks.

“Uh, no, not necessarily,” Louis says, looking down at the drive in his hands.

“For someone else?” Timmy asks, nudging his shoulder against Louis’s.

“Maybe,” Louis says. He can feel himself blushing, and Timmy gives him a scandalized look.

“Are you cheating on me?” he asks dramatically

Louis’s brain malfunctions. “We’re not dating,” he says.

“I know,” Timmy says, nudging his shoulder again. “I was kidding.”

Louis looks at him for a second, clutching the flash drive in his hand and watching Timmy smile, reaching forward to hug Steve goodbye. He really is so cute, Louis thinks, and they always have such a good time together. He’s such a talented musician, Timmy is, but he has no interest in being famous, just likes being involved in the process, making the music people want to listen to. If Louis could just date him, his life would be so easy; he could just fall in love with Timmy and everything would be so uncomplicated, but as it is, he still can’t stop thinking about Harry.

“Hey,” Timmy says, touching his arm as Louis gets up to grab his backpack, fishing his keys out of the pocket. “I was thinking, wanna get a drink with me tonight?”

Louis looks up, startled. For all the times they’ve gone home together, they’ve never gone out for drinks, or food, or anything, really. It’s just casual sex, as uncomplicated as everything else about Timmy.

“I’ve been dating this guy the past couple months, and he broke it off the other night,” Timmy says, looking down briefly. “I could really use something to get my mind off it,” he says, a hint of suggestion in his tone.

Louis wants to. He _really_ wants to, for fuck’s sake, why can’t he just say yes? Why can’t he just go out with Timmy, fall in love with him and move on with his life? Why does he feel itchy all over, like he’s doing something immoral, something dirty, something wrong? Maybe, he thinks, he is allowed to want this, but not right now, not when Harry’s back at his apartment with his whole life falling apart. Maybe they’re not in love, but Louis just doesn’t feel right starting some kind of romance on the side while Harry’s counting on him to help him get his shit together.

“Honestly, Timmy, I’d really love to,” Louis says, reaching out to fix the collar of Timmy’s shirt just for something to do with his hands. “But now just isn’t a good time.”

Timmy pouts. “Why not?”

“I’ve— got some stuff going on,” Louis says quietly.

“Oh,” Timmy says, disappointed. “Okay.”

“Sorry,” Louis says, nudging Timmy’s foot with his own.

“Could I call you sometime soon, though?” Timmy asks. “I feel like we always have such a good time together.”

“Uh,” Louis shrugs, “yeah, okay, I guess that’d be okay.”

Timmy smiles, moving in for a hug. “Great.”

They all walk out together, and Timmy walks Louis right to his car, sending him off with a coy kiss to the cheek. Louis panics about it until he’s back on the highway, stomach flipping nervously, excitedly.

This is ridiculous, he thinks. What’s keeping him from getting with Timmy, other than Harry being in his house? He’s gonna go home and tell Harry that he’s going for drinks tonight, he decides, and that he thinks he might be into this other guy, and if that isn’t what Harry wants to hear, well, then he can find someone else’s shoulder to cry on from now on. 

When he walks into his apartment, head held high, the first thing he smells is food cooking, and he follows it to the kitchen. Harry’s the one cooking, of course, shirtless with an apron tied around his neck, some horrible, tacky thing that Perrie got him ages ago on a vacation to Miami, with a cartoonish man’s body painted on the front.

“Uh,” Louis says.

“Hi,” Harry says, grinning at him over his shoulder. “I wanted to make you dinner to thank you for letting me stay here,” he says, as if that explains why he’s doing it half naked.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Louis says awkwardly.

“I want to,” Harry says, shrugging one shoulder.

“Oh,” Louis says. “Okay.” He hesitates for a minute, trying to find his courage from before. “I was actually thinking of going out tonight,” he says, all in a rush, before he can talk himself out of it.

Harry freezes up a little, turning around just to blink at him. “Oh,” he says.

“With a friend,” Louis tacks on unnecessarily. If he didn’t already look like a steaming pile of guilt, he does now, and Harry definitely sees right through him, his eyes turning sad.

“You’re seeing someone?” he asks.

“Well, no, not really,” Louis stutters.

“But you like him,” Harry says.

“I don’t know,” Louis shrugs, looking down. “Maybe.”

Harry looks absolutely devastated when Louis looks up, but he also looks like he’s trying to hide it, because he knows he’s not really allowed to be devastated. “Um,” he says, clearing his throat a little. “What’s his name?”

“Timmy,” Louis says quietly.

“How do you know him?” Harry asks. He’s trying to be casual, but he’s doing a terrible job.

“We’ve worked together a bunch over the years,” Louis says.

Harry looks up at him. “Wait, Timmy Ketley?”

“Yeah,” Louis frowns, “you know him?”

Harry looks even sadder, somehow, nodding at the floor. “Yeah, he’s a friend of a friend,” he mutters. “Great guy.”

“Yeah he is,” Louis says.

They’re both quiet for a minute, and Louis can feel his resolve crumbling as Harry turns back around to poke disinterestedly at whatever he’s got on the stove.

“Actually,” Louis says eventually, making Harry jump. “Y’know what, I don’t think I’m gonna go,” he says.

“Don’t stay home on my behalf,” Harry says, looking back up at him.

“No,” Louis says, “you really need a friend right now, and I want to be here for you,” he says quietly.

Harry just watches him for a minute, looking incredibly conflicted. Louis feels like he’ll die if he doesn’t change the subject, so he shuffles a little closer, peeking into the pan on the stove. “What are you making?” he asks.

“You didn’t have much to work with,” Harry says, looking down at the pan, too, “and I didn’t want to go to the store, so I’m making barbeque chicken and frozen vegetables,” he says.

Louis scoffs. “Those vegetables have probably been in there for months, and I can promise you I didn’t buy them,” he says.

Harry laughs a little, nodding knowingly. “Yeah, they had a touch of freezer burn, but nothing a hot skillet can’t fix,” he shrugs.

Louis hums, leaving him to it while he goes to put his backpack away. He’s not giving up on the Timmy thing, for sure, but at least Harry knows now that Louis has other options, and that he doesn’t intend for this to turn into a thing. He doesn’t know what Harry was thinking beforehand, but it’s a good wake up call, he thinks, for Harry to realize that Louis meant it when he said that he wasn’t going to put his life on hold for him.

-

It takes a day or two for Timmy to finally text Louis, and when the message pops up, Louis’s out picking up dinner from their favorite restaurant when they were kids, a little burger place down the street from the high school. He checks his phone as he’s getting back into the car, putting the bag of food in the passenger seat and chewing his lip when he sees Timmy’s name.

Timmy: _hey!! friend of mine wrote a pretty sick melody was wondering if you wanted to get your lyrical little hands on it? and maybe get dinner??_

Louis really, really does, but there’s no way he can go out tonight. He’s already got dinner in his hands, for one thing, and besides, another article came out about Harry today, and Harry’s been torn up about it for hours. Some journalist asked Camille something about the breakup, and they took her words and twisted them into something terrible about Harry’s character, and Louis’s not sure he can deal him another blow by going out on a date tonight.

He wonders, as he taps out his reply, if there’s ever going to be a reason not to blow the world off for Harry, but that’s something to think about another time.

Louis: _sorry, a friend of mine is going through something, so i’m booked up :/_

Timmy: _damn_

Timmy: _maybe we could schedule a date sometime soon then??_

Louis has no idea what to say to that, so he puts his phone down in the cupholder and turns his car on, mind wandering while he drives home. He and Harry haven’t talked about the Timmy situation again since the first time, but they also haven’t kissed or done anything else in that time, either, so he isn’t really sure how Harry’s feeling, or where they stand. Harry’s going back to LA in a few days to finish up everything he needs to do before his contract ends, and he still hasn’t figured out if he’s going to sign another one yet, and that’s definitely something they need to talk about before they talk about anything else, like Louis’s dating life.

They have a quiet night when Louis gets back with the food; Louis insists they eat on the couch and watch a movie, and Harry doesn’t protest, and an hour and a half later, they’re both pleasantly full of burgers and fries and Harry doesn’t seem to be paying attention to the movie at all, so Louis turns it off.

“So,” he says, turning to lean back against the arm of the couch, sitting sideways across the cushion to face Harry. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”

Harry looks startled. “About what?”

“About the contract thing,” Louis says.

Harry gets quiet, looking down at the floor. “I think I’m just gonna sign again,” he mutters.

Louis feels his shoulders fall, pausing for a second. “Really?” he asks.

Harry looks up at him, looking mildly disgusted. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?” he asks.

“What do _you_ want to do?” Louis asks.

“I want to pick you up off this couch and drag you to bed, and stay there until we both waste away to nothing,” Harry says quickly, too loudly, too upset all of a sudden. “But we’ve already established that I can’t do that, so I don’t know what other options I have,” he says.

Louis blinks, jaw falling open a bit. “Pardon?” he squeaks. 

“I’ve been trying so hard not to do anything, or say anything these past few days, because I know you’re not going to fall for me again, and I know you’re trying to move on and there are other guys in your life and _whatever_. I know I fucked up for good, and we’re done, and I don’t have a chance of making it better but, Louis, the day I walked away from you, I lost a whole ass chunk of my heart, and I think I’ve found it again, but I’m not allowed to have it back,” Harry says, face twisting up a little like he’s going to cry. “And I know that, but it fucking hurts _so_ much. I don’t think I can do this, I don’t think I can be friends with you,” he says.

“Wait,” Louis breathes, “what?”

“Like,” Harry says, frustrated, “I want you to be happy so desperately, Louis, but I literally don’t think I can be your friend and watch you talk to other guys, or date other guys— I could fucking vomit just thinking about it. I genuinely think it would be easier for me to just go back to what I was doing, y’know, keep being a puppet, and just let my management keep controlling my life, because at that point I didn’t have to make decisions and I didn’t have a choice. But now I have the choice to either stay here and keep aching for you, or to cut you off and go back to being miserable without you, and I don’t know which to do, Louis, I don’t know which one will hurt less,” he says.

“So you’re saying that you’ll only stay in my life if I either date you or never date anyone again?” Louis clarifies.

“No!” Harry says. “I’m saying that I love you too much to not be loved back! Anything I do now is going to be agony, so I might as well just go back to the way things were!”

“Do you think I don’t love you too?” Louis spits, sitting up. “Do you think this is any less painful for me watching you go through all this shit and not having a single idea as to how to help you? Do you think I don’t want to lock you in this apartment and never let the world touch you or come between us ever again? Because let me fucking tell you something, Harry, all I’ve ever wanted since the day you walked out of my life was for you to walk back in, but now that you’re here, I don’t know what to do. I’m so fucking scared of you, Harry, I’m so fucking scared of your life, and your job, and everything— I love you so fucking much, but I refuse to get sucked back into your bullshit. Do you get that? I don’t want to be your secret, I don’t want to be your mystery man who maybe broke up your engagement, I don’t want to be the danger in your life. I want to love you, and I want to support you, and I want to be with you. I don’t want to be the one causing you the emotional turmoil, I want to be the one who can fix that, but I don’t know how to do any of that without feeling like I just gave in and let you jerk me around the way you used to!” Louis says, all but shouting. “I fucking _refuse_ to pretend that I’m not in love with you, do you hear me? I’m not doing jack shit with you until it’s not so fucking complicated, and I’m not saying you need to come out to the whole world and be out and proud but I’m also not saying that I’m gonna hide here in Whitfield like a fucking sex toy under your bed while you prance around the world living your dream,” he says, voice harsh, but shaking.

Harry just watches him, his eyes full of tears, waiting for Louis to stop yelling. Louis feels like he’s going to shatter, but if he does, Harry’s going to shatter, too, and neither of them can afford that right now.

“So do what you want,” Louis says, standing up off the couch, “but that’s where I stand.”

Harry looks down and breathes in very slowly, letting it out in a long, shaky exhale.

“Harry?” Louis asks, watching him carefully.

Harry looks up at him, a single tear dripping down his cheek. “I think I need to talk to my team.”

-

Harry’s only been staying with Louis a few nights, but he’s yet to make a permanent decision between the couch and Louis’s bed. Generally, if they’ve had a good day, he curls up small beside Louis in bed at night and Louis tries not to think too hard about it as he holds him, but if Harry’s been a bit more distant and quiet all day, he wordlessly sets up camp on the couch for the night. After the fight they had yesterday, Harry chose to take the couch, and when Louis rolls out of bed the next morning, he finds Harry shuffling around the living room, collecting the few things he’s scattered about the apartment during his stay.

“What are you doing?” Louis asks, in lieu of _good morning._

“Packing,” Harry says quietly, carefully placing a few things into his bag. “I’m going back to LA today.”

“I thought you were staying longer,” Louis says, pulling his zip up tight around himself, like he’s already cold at the thought of Harry leaving.

“I changed my flight,” Harry says without looking up.

Louis watches him for a moment, chewing the inside of his lip. “Because of what we talked about last night?” he asks eventually.

“No,” Harry says, and then he hesitates. “Not just that.”

“Listen,” Louis says, taking a few cautious steps closer to the couch. “I’m sorry I yelled. I was just so frustrated—”

“No, I’m glad you said what you said,” Harry says quickly. “I’m glad we finally figured out how to open up and say what needed to be said,” he admits.

Louis swallows, nodding once. He’s right; this is the first time they’ve actually really had a _real_ conversation, he thinks, the first time they’ve actually said everything they were feeling and completely understood each other. “Me too,” he says softly.

They both fall quiet for a minute or two, while Harry keeps packing. He’s moving so slowly, like he doesn’t actually want to be leaving, so Louis decides to distract him a little bit more.

“What are you going back early for?” he asks, sitting down on the arm of the couch, next to Harry’s bag.

“To talk to my team,” Harry says, barely audible.

Louis’s chest tightens. “About what?”

Harry pauses, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He turns his back to Louis before he speaks, like he doesn’t want to see his reaction, and ruffles through what he’s already put in his bag. “About whether or not I’m going to sign another contract,” he says, finally.

Louis nods, holding his breath for a second. “What are your conditions?” he asks.

Harry hesitates again, folding a t-shirt three times before putting it into his bag.

“I thought we were being open and honest with each other now,” Louis says.

Harry huffs a humorless laugh, looking over at him through his eyelashes. “We have to _keep_ doing that?”

“Harry,” Louis says lowly.

Harry lets the smile drop off his face, and he shrugs, pursing his lips. “I think I want to come out,” he admits, but his voice is strangled like he doesn’t want to say it.

“Are you sure?” Louis asks.

“I think so,” Harry says.

“And do you think they’ll let you?” Louis asks.

“I want it written into the contract that I get to come out within the next five year cycle, or else I won’t sign,” Harry says, suddenly very firm, like he’s practicing his grown up voice on Louis.

“Wow,” Louis says under his breath.

“I know five years sounds like a long time,” Harry says, “but there’s a lot of shit that needs to be undone first.”

“No, I get it, I think,” Louis says.

“What do you think about it?” Harry asks.

“Well, it’s not really about me,” Louis frowns. Harry hesitates, and Louis’s heart clenches. “It’s not about me, _right_?”

“Well,” Harry says weakly, “like, it could potentially affect you… maybe.”

“Harry,” Louis says, clenching his jaw. “I told you not to fucking base anything off of me, and not to do anything for me.”

“I’m not doing it for you!” Harry argues. “I’m not basing it around the notion that you might date me again if I come out,” he says, like it’s ridiculous Louis would even think so. “Like, yeah, that would be incredible, and of course I, y'know, want that,” he says awkwardly, “but more than anything, I want to come out. I want to be myself. I want to be _me_ , and if people don’t like me anymore for it, well, then maybe I’m in the wrong profession,” he says.

Louis watches him for a minute, watches the way Harry’s hands shake while he stuffs his toothbrush into his bag and zips it closed. “That’s really brave of you,” he says, when Harry finally looks up at him.

“Yeah,” Harry says, “maybe.”

“Can I hug you?” Louis breathes, standing up from the arm of the couch.

“Always,” Harry says.

Louis crushes himself into Harry’s chest, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding him tight. He can’t imagine how scary this must be for Harry, how much he has riding on this, how much he has to lose, but he’s going to do it anyway. As much as Harry says he’s not doing it for Louis, Louis feels a certain sense of responsibility for it, like if he’s not causing this, he’s at least catalyzing it, and he feels sick at the thought that anything bad might come of it.

Harry hugs him tight, wrapping himself all the way around Louis and pressing his face into his neck. He’s shaking a little bit, Louis can feel it emanating from Harry’s core, like his very soul is trembling and anxious. Louis wants to hold him forever, wants to go back to LA with him, fight this battle for him, but he knows he can’t do that. If Harry wants to be brave, he has to be brave, and Louis’s got to trust him enough to let him go and do it.

When they finally break apart, Harry checks his phone, sighing a little. “I gotta go,” he says, showing Louis the time. It’s only just past nine. Louis nods, zipping his sweatshirt up halfway and nodding toward the door.

“Can I drive you?”

“Please,” Harry says, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

They barely talk the entire drive to the airport, but Louis’s mind doesn’t stop working for a second. He’s got to call Steve, he thinks, the second Harry gets out of the car. He’s brimming with ideas, suddenly, and he’s afraid that if he doesn’t get them out now, they’ll consume him.

They arrive at the airport nearly three hours later, having said a total of maybe ten words to each other, and Harry leans over to hug Louis quickly, like he’s scarred from the last time they shared a hug in front of an airport. Louis smiles at him softly, comfortingly, and Harry gets out of the car.

“I’ll call you,” Harry says, peeking back through the door once he’s out on the sidewalk.

“Keep me updated,” Louis says. “I’m kind of invested, I guess.”

Harry cracks a smile, hesitating when he goes to shut the door. “Love you,” he says timidly.

Louis’s heart skips. “Love you too,” he says, so quietly that neither of them can be sure he even really said it.

Harry grins at him, watching him for just a second longer before pulling away and closing the door. Louis keeps his eyes on him until Harry’s disappeared into the airport, pulling his baseball cap down over his eyes as he goes in, and before Louis even puts the car back in drive, he pulls out his phone to dial Steve’s number.

“Yo,” Steve answers.

“Meet me at the studio in a couple hours?” Louis says, going just a little too fast as he merges back onto the highway. “I have a song in my head.”

“Love to hear it!” Steve says. “I’ll see you there.”

“See you,” Louis grins, hanging up the phone and dropping it into the empty passenger seat. He spends the entire ride back home humming, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, head and heart full of music.

-

The sun sets and rises again before Louis and Steve leave the studio, but by six o’clock the following morning, Louis’s got a finished demo of maybe the best thing he’s ever written, and Steve is holding it in the air like a precious stone he’s just unearthed from a pile of manure.

“Bro,” Steve says, staring at the flash drive pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “This is _gold_.”

“I know,” Louis grins, voice croaky with exhaustion. He’s incredibly proud of the song, if he’s honest; from the vocals to the instrumentals, lyrics to the melody, he’s absolutely outdone himself, and he may never do anything so perfect ever again. It’s not even two minutes long, but, _god_ , is it powerful.

“We gotta send this out,” Steve says. “Like, ASAP.”

“You think it’ll sell?” Louis asks, plopping down on the couch outside of the recording booth.

“I think we should send it out as is, Lou,” Steve says. “I think it’s done.”

Louis frowns. “Wait, what?”

“I think it’s done,” Steve says again. “I say we release it.”

“As,” Louis stutters, blinking. “As my own?”

“Yeah, why not?” Steve says. “It’s perfect, bro.”

“I don’t know,” Louis says, eyeing the drive in Steve’s hand again warily. “Really?”

“Think about it,” Steve says. “C’mon, you can’t sell this. It’s yours, it has to be yours,” he says.

“Yeah,” Louis says unsurely, shrugging one shoulder. “I’ll think about it, I guess.”

“Sick,” Steve grins, pocketing the flash drive and getting up from the controls. They don’t say much more as they pack up, because their studio time has been over for an hour now, and they’ve gotta get out before they get kicked out.

Louis doesn’t stop thinking about it all the way home, as he changes out of the clothes he’s been wearing since he went to bed two nights ago and into fresh pajamas, falling into bed. _His own song_ , it’s so crazy to think about, but he likes it, he thinks, likes the idea of it, and maybe, just maybe, it’s crazy enough to work.

-

He wakes up sideways on his bed, in the same position he fell asleep, to his phone buzzing away on his bedside table. He sits up just enough to grab it and then flops back down, glaring at Perrie’s name and picture taking up the screen.

“What do you want?” he answers grumpily, turning himself around to at least rest his head on his pillow. He feels hungover, wants nothing more than to go back to sleep, but suddenly Perrie’s shrieking into his ear.

“Louis!” she screams, and Louis bolts upright, wide awake.

“What?” Louis asks, whipping around to look at the clock on his bedside table. It’s just past four o’clock in the afternoon, and the sun is shining outside, so as far as he can tell, it’s probably not the apocalypse.

“Congratulations!” Perrie shouts directly into his ear. Louis can hear the girls screaming in the background, as well, and he frowns, rubbing at his eyes a little.

“What?” he mumbles.

“We’re on our way home from soccer camp, listening to the radio, and all the sudden, it’s _you_!” Perrie says brightly.

“We could hardly believe it!” Nikki shouts.

“Uncle Louis on the _radio_!” Izzy howls.

“Wait,” Louis says, heart sinking. “What are you talking about?”

“Your song!” Perrie says. “We heard your song on the radio!”

“What song?” Louis says, dumbfounded. His songs have been on the radio before, but not for years, and it’s not him singing, anyway, so how would they even know that… oh _no_.

“Only for the Brave, or whatever it’s called, I don’t know, I didn’t hear it right, I was in shock,” Perrie says. “I’m _still_ in shock. Why didn’t you tell us you were releasing a song?” 

“I,” Louis says. “I didn’t know I was.”

Perrie pauses. “What?”

“I just wrote that yesterday,” Louis says, scrambling out of bed. “Steve and I recorded it as a demo last night, and he said he wanted to release it, but I didn’t tell him yes yet,” he mutters.

“Well, it’s out, and it’s on the radio,” Perrie says. “And it’s _incredible_.”

“It’s so good, uncle Louis!” Izzy’s little voice says.

“My favorite song _ever_!” Nikki says.

“I can’t believe this,” Louis breathes.

“Me either!” Perrie laughs. “Come over later, we’ll celebrate!”

“Uh, okay,” Louis says. “I gotta go murder Steve, I think.”

“Okay!” Perrie says. “We love you, we’re proud of you!” The girls echo _love you_! very loudly in the background, and Louis smiles a little, overwhelmed as he hangs up the phone.

It takes his shaking hands a few seconds to navigate his phone, and he ignores what seems like a million notifications, going straight for his text thread with Steve. There’s already a message waiting when he pulls it up, and he has to read it over a few times before it sinks in.

Steve: _so uhh.. sent the song to some of my industry friends and they’ve taken the reins.. uhh sorry but also you’re welcome!_

The text is from hours ago, before ten o’clock this morning, and now it’s _four_ , Jesus _fucking_ Christ, what else has Louis slept through?

He types back a quick _WHAT DID YOU DO_ and then tries to scroll through the rest of the notifications on his phone, skimming approximately two hundred texts from his sisters, his friends, his extended family, Timmy, Niall; everyone in the goddamn world heard his song on the radio, apparently, which is _bonkers_ , Louis didn’t even think people listened to the radio anymore.

He’s got emails, as well, from several different record labels, a few from talent agents, and Louis doesn’t even know where they’re coming from, how they got his email, or what the _fuck_ he’s supposed to do about it.

His phone starts ringing again a moment later, and he’s about to decline the call when he sees that it’s Steve. He answers immediately, hardly even bringing the phone to his ear before shouting, “I’m going to _fucking_ kill you!”

“It’s only on local radio right now,” Steve says calmly, “but I genuinely think it’s going to blow up, Lou.”

“Holy fuck,” Louis breathes.

“We need to get it on Spotify and all the platforms ASAP,” Steve says. “Seriously.”

“Really?” Louis squeaks.

“You’re gonna be a star, Lou,” Steve says dreamily.

Louis can’t think of a single thing to say, staring slack jawed at his bedroom floor. This is literally everything he’s always wanted, everything he’s ever dreamed out but never thought possible. At the same time, though, having seen what Harry’s going through right now with his own career, Louis wants to burn the whole thing to the ground and run away screaming, jump back into the abyss of anonymity like a fucking swimming pool. But honestly, it seems like all of Harry’s trouble comes from his management; Louis’s independent, he doesn’t have to deal with any of that, and he’s certainly not answering any of the emails in his inbox, so he’s good there, he guesses. Yeah, maybe it’ll suck to have the media up his ass if he gets as big as Harry, but he doesn’t want to be that big, anyway, and he guesses he has a good shot at staying out of the spotlight as long as he doesn’t have a management team. He can just stay independent, make music he wants to make, the same way he’s always been doing, and maybe this won’t be so bad.

“Y’know what,” he says, finally, once Steve must be starting to suspect the call’s been dropped, “fuck it, let’s do it.”

“Yes!” Steve shouts, and then the line clicks dead.

By the end of the evening, the song is up on Spotify, iTunes, and a bunch of platforms Louis didn’t even know existed. Steve’s trying to get in touch with some of his video producer friends to see about doing a music video, maybe, and Louis’s still getting emails from random industry people, and it’s all so overwhelming that Louis doesn’t know what to do except call Harry.

Harry answers just before the phone rings out, and there’s a bit of a shuffle on the other end, like Louis’s caught Harry at a bad time. When Harry finally speaks, he sounds like he’s a mile away, voice quiet and empty when he says, “hello?”

“Hey,” Louis frowns. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Harry says.

“What’s wrong?” Louis asks, heart sinking.

“They’re giving me a new girlfriend,” Harry says, voice somehow getting even smaller.

Louis’s life shatters before his eyes. He almost drops the phone, but he hangs on, pulse picking up in his chest. “What?”

“As damage control,” Harry says, “for the Camille thing, and the you thing. I have a new beard for the rest of the month,” he says blankly.

“Fuck,” Louis breathes.

“I’m devastated,” Harry says, laughing humorlessly. “I have to spend all day tomorrow doing pap walks with her.”

“Did you talk to them about the contract thing?” Louis asks.

Harry sniffles a little, sighing bitterly. “Yeah,” he says. “They won’t hear it.”

“Are you kidding?” Louis scoffs.

“They’re not giving me an option, Lou,” Harry says. “It’s either stay in the closet, or end my career.”

Louis feels like absolute shit, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “Well, can’t you just not sign again?” he says.

“They’ll fucking end me, Louis,” Harry says quietly. “If I don’t resign, they’ll just remove me from public consciousness. They’re that powerful,” he says.

“Can’t you sign with someone else, and have them counteract it?” Louis asks desperately.

“Are you kidding?” Harry laughs. “No one will take them on. No one will help me.”

“Fuck,” Louis says.

Harry hiccups like he’s starting to cry, and Louis’s heart shatters a little more. “I’m sorry,” he says miserably. “I think I have to sign.”

“No,” Louis breathes.

“I can’t, Louis,” Harry says. “I can’t lose this.”

“Harry—”

“I don’t know what to do,” Harry sobs. “I can’t lose this career, Louis, it’s all I have! But I also can’t keep on like this, I don’t know what to fucking do!”

Louis can’t even remember why he called in the first place, his mind is suddenly full of cotton, and all he can think about is how miserable he is, how miserable Harry is, and there’s not a single thing either of them can do about it. “Harry,” he says again; he doesn’t know why, maybe just to let Harry know that he’s still here. Maybe he’s forgotten how to say any other word.

“Tell me what to do,” Harry cries, hiccuping into the phone. “Just tell me what to do, Louis.”

“What?”

“Make the decision for me, Louis, please,” Harry begs.

“There’s no way I can make that decision, Harry, I told you—”

“ _Please_!” Harry shouts, voice breaking. “Just fucking tell me what to do, _please_!”

Louis starts to get choked up, too, listening to Harry cry and knowing there’s nothing in the world he can do for him right now. Harry’s still begging, like he isn’t even aware that he’s doing it, and Louis curls his hand into a fist.

“Don’t sign it,” he says finally.

Harry gasps and pauses, breathing in tiny stutters, heartbeats of static. “What?”

“Don’t sign it,” Louis says, trembling. “Don’t, Harry, please don’t.” Harry doesn’t say anything, just keeps breathing and Louis’s terrified he’s said the wrong thing, but now that he’s said it, he can’t change his mind, can’t take it back, so he just whimpers and says it again. “Please don’t sign it, Harry, please, don’t fucking sign it, don’t—”

The line clicks dead.

-

Over the next week, Louis’s song climbs the charts. It never breaches the top twenty, but for a debut single, dropped in the middle of the day with no warning by a no name artist from the middle of nowhere with absolutely no promo, it’s almost unprecedented. Louis is absolutely thrilled with it, can spend entire hours watching the live numbers change with the amount of people streaming the song on Spotify; it’s so surreal, the whole thing, Louis feels like his feet haven’t touched the ground since he woke up that afternoon a week ago.

He’s tried calling Harry once or twice a day since Harry hung up on him, but Harry either lets the call ring out, or denies it right away. He also won’t answer Louis’s texts, and they’re really starting to pile up, because if there’s one person in the world Louis wants to talk about all of this with, it’s Harry, and he’s starting to get desperate.

By now, Harry surely knows about Louis’s song, has probably heard it, probably has a whole host of feelings about it that Louis can’t even begin to imagine. Those feelings are probably adding to the list of reasons why he won’t call Louis back, and that thought is so devastating it’s a wonder Louis can get himself out of bed in the morning.

Steve finds someone interested in making a music video for Only the Brave, but by then, Louis’s too depressed to even consider it. He doesn’t want to make a music video, doesn’t want to do anything; he already hates this, he doesn’t know how Harry did this at eighteen, how he left his whole life behind and lost everyone he was close to just to have a career. Louis’s only been at it for a week, but he already doesn’t fucking want this career if it means he can’t have Harry, if it means that he has to choose between this and Harry.

He doesn’t know what Harry’s going to do now, how he’s going to sign another contract and pretend like none of the past few weeks happened at all. Louis tells himself he will never speak to Harry again if he’s that weak, if he acts like such a coward. Louis doesn’t need him, and clearly, Harry doesn’t need Louis, either, but it hurts, it fucking hurts so bad to have almost had a firm grip and let it slip away. That’s the thought that keeps sticking in his head every time he begins to question his resolve, if he’s honest; he knows he isn’t strong enough to never talk to Harry again. If Harry ever decides he wants to answer Louis’s texts, Louis’s going to be right back at his feet, and they’re going to be right back where they started.

The month marches on, and Louis’s song stays on the charts, remarkably. He’s never been in it for the money, but the money certainly doesn’t hurt, and he’s starting to come around to the idea of making this a career; he’s got all of his bills and most of his debt paid back within a few weeks, and he’s even got some money to spare, for the first time in his life.

Steve wants him to get back in the studio as soon as possible to write more music, Perrie wants him to use some of his money to get a new place and move out of his shitty apartment, but Louis doesn’t want to do anything. Doing those things means he’s really moving on with his life; he’ll really become a recording artist, and he’ll have to admit that he’s outgrown this apartment and, yes, those are things he’s wanted forever, but it’s so, so scary now that the option is here in front of him. Not to mention that he’s been tempted like this in the past, made to think everything was finally coming up for him, just to have it all fall away. What if this is just a fluke, like all the other times? At least this time he knows for a fact that Harry isn’t behind it pulling the strings, dangling success in front of him because he thinks he’s helping. If it all goes away now, it’s all on Louis, and that’s the thing that’s got him paralyzed with fear.

He tries to ignore those thoughts whenever they approach, and that’s part of the reason why he spends so much time on Twitter these days, which Steve made him download in order to interact with his fans, because apparently he has fans now, which is _wild_.

He spends a lot of time just scrolling through Twitter, liking tweets, replying to some of the people who tweet him first because they like it when he’s mean to them, for some reason, and he finds it endlessly entertaining. Nobody seems to have connected the dots yet that he’s the one Harry was hugging in that picture weeks ago, which is good, he thinks, because if Harry doesn’t want to be associated with him then, fine, neither does Louis.

It’s odd, he thinks, that as much as he tries to tell himself he doesn’t care about Harry, that he doesn’t care if they never speak again, he cannot stop thinking about him, can’t stop searching his name, just to see if he can find out what he’s up to.

He doesn’t have to look very hard today, as it turns out, because the second he opens the search tab, Harry’s picture is the first thing he sees. He’s broken up with his latest girlfriend, apparently, and there’s a whole Twitter Moment about it from only a few seconds ago.

It makes Louis want to roll his eyes, because Harry only ‘dated’ this girl for less than a month, and yet their breakup is some huge, massive spectacle worthy of a Twitter Moment. More than anything, though, it makes him unbearably sad, so much so that he can’t even click on the headline, he has to close the app and roll over in bed, staring at the wall for a few minutes.

He wonders if Harry’s already signed his next contract, when his next girlfriend is coming along, what he’s going to do next that’s worthy of a Twitter Moment. That alone makes him angry enough that he thinks, _fuck it_ , he _does_ want to make more music, and he wants to do it _now_. He rolls back over to pick up his phone with the intention of texting Steve to see if he’s free to go to the studio, but before he can even unlock his phone, the home screen flickers and then lights up with Harry’s name.

He gets so startled that he drops his phone, wincing as it clatters onto the floor beside his bed. Exactly as he predicted he would, though, he nearly breaks his neck in his effort to topple after it, scooping it up off the floor and accepting the call.

“Harry?”

There’s a pause. “Oh,” Harry says. “I— I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“No, that’s _you_ who doesn’t answer,” Louis says, picking himself up off the floor and sitting down on the edge of his bed. 

Harry laughs a little, startled, and Louis’s blood both boils and cools and the sound of it.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, and he sounds sincere enough that Louis doesn’t scoff. “I didn’t mean to blow you off like that,” he says quietly.

“Nah, it’s chill,” Louis says, “my heart’s only fucking shattered, no big deal.”

Harry hesitates.”Wait, seriously?” he asks.

“I told you I didn’t want to lose you again,” Louis says, voice breaking just a little in the middle.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry gushes. “I—”

“You’re actually a piece of shit, do you know that?” Louis says.

“What?” Harry asks, startled.

“You just fuck off and ignore me for weeks when things get hard?” Louis asks, voice harsh. “Like, what the fuck was that? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I truly didn’t mean to go so long without talking to you,” Harry says. “I was just trying to get through the last few weeks of my contract—”

“Oh, so you weren’t even actively ignoring me, you just simply fucking forgot about me,” Louis says. “Cool!”

“No, that’s not what I mean—”

“Then what the fuck do you mean?” Louis spits. “Because you asked me to make the decision about the contract for you, and I did, and you fucking hung up on me and dropped off the face of the earth and did the opposite of what I said. So, I don’t know how that’s supposed to make me feel—”

“Wait,” Harry cuts him off. “I didn’t do the opposite!”

“Yes, you fucking did!” Louis scoffs. “I told you you shouldn’t sign another contract!”

“I didn’t sign another contract!” Harry fires back.

Louis blinks. “Wait,” he says, “what?”

“I didn’t sign,” Harry says. “I’m free.”

Louis feels his entire world tip upside down, head spinning. “What?” he asks again.

“I was never gonna do the opposite of what you said, Lou, but I also knew you were gonna tell me not to sign, I think,” Harry says. “But when you actually said it, I was so overwhelmed, I just hung up. And then you kept calling, and I was afraid you were going to tell me to sign it, actually, and I was afraid you’d even be able to talk me into it, so I didn’t answer. I just wanted to put my head down and finish out my contract without causing a lot of trouble, y’know, and I did, and now my management is so eager to get me back I don’t think they’ll even do anything to hurt me because I didn’t sign. I’m being a little facetious to them, I guess, trying to keep them thinking I’m considering signing again, but I’m not, Louis, I’m not going to do it. I’m free! I haven’t felt this good in my whole life,” he says, laughing like he’s exhilarated.

“You’re free?” Louis says, feeling like the wind’s been knocked out of him.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “I don’t have a management or a label or anything anymore, which is fucking terrifying, but clearly you’re fucking doing it and you’re doing fine,” he chuckles.

Louis laughs, running a hand through his hair. “So you’ve heard, then?”

“Yeah, I’ve fucking heard,” Harry spits, but he sounds so happy, like he’s smiling, and it makes Louis want to melt into the bed in relief. “I wanted to reach out and congratulate you so badly, but I wasn’t sure how,” he admits. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Louis, the song is incredible, and it’s doing _so_ well, you must be so fucking happy,” he says.

Louis grins, letting his eyes slip closed. “It’s about you,” he says quietly.

“What?” Harry asks.

“The song,” Louis says, “it’s about you. _Only the Brave_. I started writing it in my head when I hugged you before I took you to the airport.”

“Oh my God,” Harry mumbles.

“Yeah,” Louis breathes. 

“I love you,” Harry says.

Louis’s eyes snap open. “What?”

“I love you,” Harry says again, more pointedly. “Is that a surprise? I’m so fucking in love with you, Louis, I’m _so_ fucking in love with you.”

Louis laughs, and no, it isn’t really a surprise, but it feels just as good as one. “Okay,” he says.

“I’m free!” Harry shouts, laughing. “And I’m so happy, and _I love you_!”

Louis laughs brightly, so overwhelmed he feels like he can’t breathe, like all the pieces are finally coming together and settling right in his lungs, threatening to pull him under.

“Can we stop this now?” Harry says, a little out of breath, the same way Louis feels.

“What?” Louis asks.

“Can we stop pretending like you’re not in love with me too?” Harry says. “And like this is going to end any other way than us hand in hand?”

Louis’s quiet for a minute, the blissful smile fading from his face. “Harry,” he sighs, “how will this ever—”

“I don’t work in LA anymore,” Harry cuts him off, like he’s already thought it all out. “So, I could move back to Whitfield, y’know? Because apparently it’s completely possible to have a successful independent music career from out there,” he chuckles. “And we could buy a house, maybe, up on the hill, the way we always wanted to when we were kids, and we can be close to our families, and Perrie, and everyone, and I can hold your hand in public without worrying about anyone seeing, and even if people do see, we don’t have to worry about it, and we can take it one day at a time and figure it out as we go and no matter what happens, we can just be together,” he says, all in a rush, like he’s absolutely desperate to get it all out. “And maybe,” he says, after a brief pause. “Maybe we can finally be happy the way we were always meant to be.”

Louis’s smiling so hard he can barely think straight, head spinning so much he has to lie down, staring up at the ceiling. “Okay,” he says dreamily.

“You know what we’ll have to be?” Harry asks, somehow breaking through the clouds inside Louis’s brain. Louis thinks that Harry is the only thing in the world that could break through the clouds inside his brain right now.

“What?”

“Fearless.”

Louis laughs, tipping his head back against the mattress as a tear drips down his cheek, pressing the phone so hard against his ear it might hurt, if Louis could even feel pain. “Fearless.”

-

Once the trees in Whitfield have turned all the magnificent colors of fall, Louis and Harry fly out to LA one last time to get what’s left of Harry’s stuff from his old house, which sold just last week. Louis hasn’t been back to LA since the first time, and he isn’t terribly eager to come back after this trip, now that he and Harry have their gorgeous house in Whitfield, a grand, tudor-style home near the Ridge, like they talked about, that combines Louis’s simple taste with Harry’s fancy for the extravagant. It’s much bigger than any place Louis’s ever lived, but much cozier than Harry’s LA mansion, and they’re both terribly excited to call it home, _their_ home.

It’s a spur of the moment decision, really, as they’re walking around the city on their last day in LA, just hours before their flight back to Massachusetts. Harry spots the cameras first, because he always does, and he smiles, pushing his sunglasses up on top of his head and reaching for Louis’s hand.

“Hi,” Louis laughs, as Harry fumbles to lace their fingers together.

“Hi,” Harry grins, keeping their steps perfectly in line with each other. 

Louis hears the shutter of a camera, and he makes to let go of Harry’s hand on some weird, inherent instinct, but Harry doesn’t let go, squeezing his hand tighter. Louis turns to look up at him, to issue some kind of warning, but Harry’s right there, kissing his lips before Louis can get a word out.

When Harry pulls away, he’s beaming, like nothing in the world can touch him. Nothing, that is, except for Louis.

Louis laughs brightly, tucking himself into Harry’s side. The cameras are going off like crazy now, but Harry only pulls him closer, and Louis couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to.

The photos spread like wildfire; Louis finds them on Twitter before they even board their flight back to Boston that same afternoon, and he and Harry giggle about it the entire way home, paying no mind at all to what might come next.

What comes next, of course, is that Harry’s old team starts to retaliate, tries to drag his name through the dirt in front of the public, but Harry’s true fans are smart enough to see through it. They show him nothing but love and support, even as his old management tries again and again to turn them away from him.

Harry decides to take a step away from the industry while his team tires themselves out, but he’s alright with the break. Now that he finally lives in a house that feels more like a home than a prison, he’s absolutely loving the process of settling into it, decorating exactly the way he wants to until every inch feels like it’s theirs, Harry and Louis’s, their forever home.

Louis, on the other hand, has decided to take the industry head on. He and Steve have been working on a full length album the past few weeks, which isn’t exactly hard; Louis has hundreds of songs from the past few years that never got sold, and it’s a shame, because some of them have incredible potential. They’ve been in the process of picking out their favorites, curating a collection of songs that work together, and rerecording them until they’re absolutely perfect. Louis loves the work, loves spending all day making music, loves coming home to Harry at the end of it, loves falling asleep in his arms and waking up beside him and doing it all over and over and over again.

It’s a few days before Thanksgiving when they finally, _finally_ are ready to consider themselves moved into the new house, and so, of course, they have Perrie and the girls over for dinner. It’s finally actually cold outside, cold enough to warrant a fire in their cozy little fireplace, so Harry sets Louis about that mission while he finishes up cooking and the girls play on the grand piano in the living room.

“This house is gorgeous, Lou,” Perrie says, settling down on the brand new couch with a glass of wine in her hand. Louis gives her a look, but she just smiles, making a show of taking a very careful sip from her glass.

“Thanks,” he says, watching carefully until Perrie has set her glass all the way down on the coffee table. He works a few more minutes to get the fire going strong, and then gets up off the floor, shuffling over to curl into Perrie’s side. “Hey,” he says, nuzzling into her hand like a cat when she reaches up automatically to play with his hair. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Perrie hums, combing all of the hair away from Louis’s face and scratching at his scalp.

“Everything,” Louis says, putting his head down on her shoulder so he won’t have to look her in the eye while being so sincere. “I just— I owe all of this to you.”

“Not at all,” Perrie says, tugging his hair a little. “You earned this, Lou, and you deserve it.”

“No, I—” Louis huffs, glancing up at her. “I mean, like, from the start. The reunion. None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t made me go.”

Perrie snorts a laugh, pressing a wet kiss to his forehead. “You’re absolutely not giving me credit for all of _this_ because I dragged you to our high school reunion, are you?”

“Yes, I am,” Louis says. “Seriously! If we hadn’t gone that night, if I hadn’t seen Harry, I don’t think any of this would be happening to me right now.”

“In that case, I’ll take fifty percent of your royalties, please,” Perrie teases.

“You’re kidding, but I genuinely think you should be asking for that,” Louis laughs quietly. “Seriously, Pez, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Perrie says, petting her hand down his spine. “Thank you for looking after me all those years, when the girls first came around. We couldn’t have done that without you, either.” Louis looks up at her, smiling gently, and Perrie kisses his nose. “We look after each other, Lou, it’s what we do. What we’ve done since the first grade.”

“Love you,” Louis says, nuzzling into her neck.

“Love you more,” Perrie says, reaching down to squeeze his behind. “Even though you’re not single anymore and you’re still going to be madly in love with Harry when you’re thirty and therefore unable to marry me as our pact said.”

Louis barks a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re welcome in this home anytime,” he says. “And the girls, too. We look after each other, y’know?”

“I know,” Perrie says. “Hey, girls!” she shouts suddenly, costing Louis at least most of his hearing, “come give uncle Louis a cuddle, and thank him for inviting us over!”

The girls are there in an instant, climbing up on top of him and cuddling close. Louis wraps his arms around both of them as best he can, giggling as they whine their complaints into his chest.

“Oh, there’s a cuddle puddle, and I haven’t been invited?” Harry says, peeking in from the kitchen. “Rude.”

“C’mon,” Perrie says, holding her free arm open for Harry. Harry grins and bounds over, tucking himself against Perrie’s side and getting his free arm around Louis and the girls, too, somehow. 

Louis could cry, he thinks, smothered by all his favorite people in the world, home, at last. He digs his face out from Izzy’s shoulder and catches Harry’s eyes, memorizing the shape of the soft smile Harry gives him. If Harry can tell that his eyes are a bit wet, he doesn’t let on, except for the way he strokes the part of Louis’s shoulder that he can reach, giving Louis that lingering gaze that tells him, as if he didn’t already know, that Harry loves him, never stopped loving him, and never will.

They eat dinner around the massive dining table that Harry found at some antique fair, big enough to seat twelve, maybe more, if they were willing to squeeze together. They’re missing a few, as the empty chairs show; Niall’s still in town, and Jade, too, and all the others will be home soon for the holidays, and they’re already planning a reunion of their own, one far away from the country club, from the corners of Whitfield that didn’t mean anything to him. This, right here, this little congregation around his dining table, and all the pin points spread around the world now doing their own thing, this is Louis’s Whitfield, this is his home, these people, these faces, these little giggles as he throws peas at the girls when Harry and Perrie aren’t looking. If the rest of the world fell away, it wouldn’t matter a bit. This is Louis’s home, and he’s never letting go of it.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked the fic, you can reblog it [here.](https://suspendrs.tumblr.com/post/613582815232196608/fearless-by-suspendrs-97k-youre-my-best)
> 
> please do not translate, repost, or recreate this work in any way. thank you!


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